Into the Fire
by UltraVioletSoul
Summary: Corinne Lafleur was a simple school teacher who met Alex Mason in rather unconventional circumstances, in Paris. After a peaceful evening in a café turns into a nightmare, with bullets flying above her head, she only wants answers. The only thing that Mason wants is to fulfill one last request of an old friend, whom everyone thought to be dead; or is he? MasonxOC. BO spoilers!
1. If We Ever Meet Again

_**A/N:**_

_This is my first CoD fanfic, and no… I won't tell you to go easy on me. In fact, flames are welcomed since I am not new to the world of fan fiction so, if you have something bad to say, please do. I think I am mature enough to stand harsh criticism, so I don't care what you say as long as you review (?)_

_I've found myself inspired on a fic about Soap MacTavish called 'Sour Cherry', by __**brenda macia**__, which is unbelievable wonderful! I'm still waiting for the authoress to update it ; A ; if you ever read this, Brenda, I beg of you: DO ME SOME JUSTICE AND UPDATE! (end of pointless rambling)._

_But even though my inner fangirl dies for Soap, I decided to write something for Mason because I think he never gets enough love as MacTavish does :(_

_I already know that this piece of whatever you want to call it might not be good to the eyes of diehard Call of Duty fans, but still I wanted to post it for a potential reader who could enjoy it, regardless of others that may not (hey, I cannot please everyone, can I?). _

_I've been playing Black OPS and, to be honest, I really like the game. Being one that has been following the series ever since CoD2, I think Treyarch is doing a decent work with the series so far. I'd like to point out that this originally was written in second person for Lunaescence, but since reader inserts are not allowed in this site, I had to change it to a third person point of view (I really do hate first person stories… don't ask me why) so it doesn't infringe the rules._

_This fic was somehow inspired on… ahem, the Jason Bourne films (or, at least, tried! ; A ;), and is sort of an AU since it doesn't follow the storyline to a T (and Mason still works for the CIA in Black OPS II). _

_Forgive my strange English and crappy grammar. Some mistakes have surely fallen through the cracks… and I apologize for that._

_Hope you enjoy (or hate?)_

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_**DISCLAIMER: **_

_I do not own Alex Mason or Black OPS, as they all belong to Activision and Treyarch. All I own is this lame plot I came up with._

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_**WARNINGS:**_

_AU, possible OOC-ness and OC. THE STORY DOES NOT MAKE ANY SENSE SINCE IT JUMPS AROUND IN TIME A LOT (like the Black OPS game, I guess)… and I expect hate :)_

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_**IMPORTANT NOTE:**_

_The date at the beginning has been changed from **1979** to **1978**. I realized I've made a big mistake by overlooking some important facts, so I tried to correct that :( _

_You'll understand why in later chapters, though I have the feeling some of you are suspecting the reason why I did this._

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**Chapter I**

**[REDACTED] The Sanctuary**

**[REDACTED] Mason [REDACTED] August 25th, 1978**

**I. **

"So… it is unlikely that we'll see again, right?" The young brunette had asked, trying to hide the hurt in her voice as she stared at the grass covered in crystal dew beneath her bare feet. The morning breeze softly hit against her weary face as the light rays of the rising sun started to warm her once cool skin. Still, she rubbed her forearms after a feeble quiver made its way through the muscles of her body at seeing the man that stood in front of her wearing an impassive gaze.

"Probably." His husky voice answered as if nothing and she felt her heart sink further into the depths of misery at his words. A painful knot had begun to form in her frail throat, and all that she had wanted to do was sprinting to his arms and cry to her heart's content in the break of dawn. But she just stood there, doing nothing to keep the man she loved from leaving for, no mattered how hard she tried, it seemed she was not able to move an inch from her spot in the field. And even though the voice in her head screamed for him to show some kind of compassion, deep down she knew that he was only trying to make things easier for them both by not getting her hopes high.

This was merely him being himself. Truth was, she had never thought of Alex Mason as the romantic type and, being honest, she would find it odd if he told her one of those cheesy lines the girls she had known back at home so enthusiastically went crazy about. If he had been one, it certainly was way long before she was even brought to this world; perhaps when he was a youngster, hunting elk and grizzlies with his father in the wilderness of a freezing Alaska. He used to tell her he was the youngest marksman in the history of marksmanship competition, and seemed to be quite proud of it when he related her stories on how he became a Wimbledon Cup winner with only twenty-three years of age, while smoking a Pal Mall cigarette during one of those long nights that neither of them were able to sleep.

And she merely sat there, by his side, attentively listening to him, utterly and helplessly engrossed in his narratives and anecdotes; laughing like a kid at some of them; holding a respectful silence in others and, finally, giving him an understanding look when he tacitly meant that sometimes remembering was too much for him to take. The migraines still persisted, and were as painful as the first day. He often told her they felt like needles prickling on his susceptible brain, and the only thing he could see was a red monster swallowing him whole in a void of blood and hallucinations that would not leave him alone.

One of those nights, while she was with him trying to warm her body next to the fire in the chimney of the bedroom, she asked him what happened in Vorkuta and who Reznov was. He simply fell silent and gave her a disturbingly aggravated stare from his spot on the comfortable wooden chair as if debating whether to share such a private memory with her or not, and the young woman thickly swallowed at the sudden change of mood. She had asked too soon; she had asked in the wrong time. How fool she was for thinking his trust was unconditional to her. He still considered this world was a place of lies and deceits, and who could blame him for it. If there was one thing she had learned during her time with him was to never believe in everything you thought you knew— even with proof, sometimes you still needed to doubt. What you think happened, in the end turns out to be a chain of lies created to convince you into doing _their_ bidding, and was no different from a brainwashing that wanted to destroy any chance at getting close to the truth.

"You don't have to know." He finally decided, getting up from his seat, and she knew she had crossed the line this time; he had directly let her know she was not allowed to disturb those dark waters of his mind. He did not like to talk about it, did not want to. She would never understand what the feeling of being forgotten, betrayed, and abandoned felt like, after all. "You'd better go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day."

Once he said he had failed those dear to him so many times, and that so many chances for him to redeem himself were irrationally wasted during his life without thinking of the consequences that would bite at his conscience afterwards. Many times he had wondered if things would have been different had he done things right. If only he had been there for his sister Marion when her first child was born; if only he had seen his Mother before she passed away to a better life; if only she had not thought it was okay for him to not be there for her until her last breath because he was a hero, it would have been easier for him to think he was not at fault; if only he had tried to save his relationship with his family instead of letting the hidden fears the ghosts of Vorkuta had left, and his strong drive of finding and terminate Dragovich and his minions, destroy what was left of the man Alex Mason had once been.

If there was something Dot was right about, it was that his son had died… he had died in that damned Gulag.

People change; the horrors they see and live turn them into something they never intended to be, little by little; it sickens them to the point they forget who they are— it ends up breaking them to pieces like glass. His mind was broken, in shambles, unstable and vulnerable. There was no cure for this malady, this virus that had uncontrollably spread through the depths of his soul, corrupting him, devastating his life and taking all that had been beautiful away from him.

She was cognizant that he had endured many hardships throughout his life, and she was not expecting some kind of comfort in this foreseen goodbye. Battle had hardened this man; life had given him that tough and callous look in those eyes that had seen many sunsets in the wild. He had lived many more years than she had; he had seen what her eyes would never have the misfortune of seeing, much to his solace; he had done many things he did not dare to confess to her for her own good and psychic wellbeing. Those stories would certainly make her feel sick to the stomach and, probably, steal her sleep.

She knew, from the start, that love was something so trivial and insignificant to this old fox and, even so, her silly heart had chosen him the day she caught glimpse of his serious and hazardous eyes amidst the sea of unknown faces she never bothered to look at— only his. He had been intently staring at her, and she had almost forgotten how to breathe when he approached the table she was sitting at and greeted her with that deep voice of his. She remembered she had felt weak at the knees at the sight of his tall and strong form, and had started stuttering as she felt the intense poise and authority he imparted by saying a simple 'Hello'.

And that was how it all began.

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**II. **

"So… what's your story, stranger from Far Away Lands?" She joked with a small laugh, trying to swallow the nervousness that was making her have a hard time as she anxiously swirled the cocoa in a black mug with a teaspoon. She practically could feel his greenish eyes on her but refused to look at him out of natural shyness, instead settling on watching out of the window and at the snowflakes that kept falling in the packed streets of the city. Despite not knowing if he was from 'Far Away Lands', though his accent gave her a vague idea that he could be American, she had thought it would be funny saying such a corny line without considering that, possibly, she could make a fool of herself in her first meeting with him.

Honestly, she did not know why he was even wasting his time with her.

"Would you believe me if I tell you, Miss?" He asked in what she believed to be a charming manly voice while he took a taste of his hot black coffee, his eyes furtively scanning the surroundings of the café with an attention she certainly failed to notice since she was too busy thinking about her next lines. "I must warn you, my tale is not for the faint at heart."

Even though he was serious, she, however, could not help but take it as some kind of stunt from a man who was trying to get her attention. It was not that she was a conceited and vain girl— not at all— but it was not every day she spoke with such a handsome man and, suddenly, having one asking if he could have his coffee with her was something that inhibited her to the point of falling silent due to her diffidence. This only seemed to confuse him, since he gazed at her, expectant of her response and she fell into account that she had yet to follow his game— at least, that was what the youngster had thought it was.

The female tried to seem cool and relaxed and shrugged her shoulders in a casual manner as she took a sip from her drink, relishing in the sweet flavor it left in the tip of her tongue. It helped with her nervousness at some point, until she felt his knee accidentally rubbing into hers. She labeled it as an accident and not an attempt at getting close to her, she would not flatter herself that way, since the circular mahogany table they were seated at was rather small and little space was left between the two of them.

"Well… err… it… depends." She answered with burning cheeks and an awkward smile, making him arch an eyebrow in query and interest at the way she reacted to his subtle advances. The way she lightly scratched the side of her face in evident anxiety, and her flustered gaze diverted from his eyes made him smirk inwardly as his hand dangerously drew near hers.

"On what?" He encouraged her to keep going and, at this point, she suddenly found the black mug in front of her interesting in some strange way she did not understand. Oh, she did not want to be so shy but this man was something else! There was something to him that made her feel shaky when she looked into those baffling eyes of his; it made her heart beat faster whenever his rough voice talked to her; her skin seemed to burn when his lips cracked a faint smile at her… and her stomach was in a tight knot that was beginning to numb the rational thoughts in her mind.

"On… on the books you've read, of course!" She half-laughed, suddenly stopping when she realized the stupidity of her words after that. For her dear life, she did not say that, did her? She wanted to believe it had been something she had made up in her head, but the way he quietly laughed at her let her know otherwise. She should not have said that! Why would she let him know she was some kind of book-worm? That was not appealing, at all. But her inner confusion only seemed to amuse him all the more since he gave a dry chuckle while eyeing for a third time the novel that she had set aside.

"Well, then. It seems like we're goin' to get on just fine."

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**III. **

Her fists painfully clenched at her sides and she pursed her lips to stop herself from begging him to stay; to tell him that there was a reason for him to stay. She could not do it, now of all times. This was not how things were supposed to wind up. He had to go; he had to. And if she told him her secret, there was no telling of what he would do. Would he stay regardless of everything? Would he still leave her to chase after this dangerous venture in the lands of Africa to track down the brother of Daniel Clarke? She was dying to know, but she did not want to place him in a situation in where he had to choose between what his heart truly desired, his path to redemption, and her, because she knew that, in the end, she would lose.

And there were not going to be hugs this time; there were not going to be kisses or pretended 'I love yous'. This, she understood very well… and still she wished he could at least say he would never forget her; she mentally shouted for some kind of warmth coming from him only to meet his hard expression and the kind of look he gave her when he silently reprimanded her for something she had done wrong— like a father to a child. It was not a gruff glare, however, but a look that showed the faintest hint of concern behind the depths of blue-greenish eyes and it made her chest ache.

She did not blame him for the pain her breaking heart was feeling now, and she forced herself to look unfalteringly at his eyes and smile, even though she felt her insides were mercilessly being ripped apart at the prospect of knowing she would not see him anymore. But he had a duty, he still had a destiny to fulfill; and she had to be strong, she had to make him proud of her.

She could not cry now; she could not let him know how devastated she was.

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**IV. **

"I need you to listen carefully, and no questions for now." He started as he partially covered his mouth with the back of his hand, resting an elbow on the reddish table. "Can you see those two men there?" He discreetly nodded to his left and she followed, as subtly as she could. It was not easy to spot them, since the café was sort of crammed —it was not strange given that it was after-hours and the café was well known— and there were a lot of people there. But when he told her what they were wearing and doing, it was then that she saw them prudently watching their every move, not just once but several times before she began to wonder if making 'friends' with the man in front of her had been a good idea in the first place. "Act normal. Keep talkin' to me."

"What's going on?" Her chest painfully tightened and concern began to take its toll on her hazel eyes, even though he had told her to act composed.

He reminded himself that she was a mere citizen with what appeared to be a normal and average life and, therefore, would act on fear and impulse. In spite of this, he still had hoped for her to have some common sense to think and act before danger, and started to worry about his choice. Perhaps she was not the ideal person for this deed. Perhaps he should have listened to Hudson and, instead, chosen one of her male cousins. He had thought she would be easier to deal with, and would willingly cooperate if he was smart enough to seduce her…

But there had not been time for this.

He was not one to talk, though. He had always had a strong tendency to act out of impulsiveness, and that had been a trait he could never subdue. If he was able to think before doing something, he would not have ended up in the hands of Dragovich. Honestly, dying would have been the best option then. None of this inferno would have happened. Or maybe it was an unavoidable disaster— a doom he could not escape, it did not matter the perspective he saw it from.

The only good side of jumping off the plane was that he was able to save the life of his teammates during Operation Zapata, when they tried to assassinate Castro but had their plans thwarted by Cuban and Russian counterintelligence. Only he knew what horrible things would have happened to them, had they been captured. His mind could live at peace, at least knowing that he had the chance of sparing them from the same tortures and cruel treatments he had endured in the flesh.

"No questions. If you wanna get out of this alive, you'll do as I say." He stated with a blank face as he waited for his executioners to get distracted by the waitress, and took a pen out of his jacket. Heedlessly, he grabbed a paper napkin and scribbled on it, his eyes staring out of the window they were seated next to only to spot a grayish car parking across the street and two more men in it. "We've got trouble, so I want you to—"

"Trouble?" She was beginning to feel panicked, and his ominous words did not make her feel any better. Why did she have such a bad luck? Why in her first 'date' her man turned out to be some kind of fugitive that had a bunch of men trying to kill him for reasons she did not care to know about. The only thing that crossed her mind was that she was too young to die, and how much she wished she could have the chance to contemplate the beauty of life for a last time.

This was scaring her, terrifying her beyond any belief, and when the sudden detonation of gunshots shattering the windowpane next to her took her by surprise, she could not help but cry along with the other customers as she felt her body being roughly pushed to the floor, like a ragdoll. Barely having time to register the pistol the brunette man had produced from the hem of his pants, and the dreadful fact that he had already shot the two men inside the café down, she could only try to keep herself out of harm's way, the gunfire muffling her hopeless screams and hurting her eardrums.

Her eyes widened in shock, she felt her breathing get heavier with every gasp of air she took. She was hyperventilating by now, and she wished the carbon dioxide would not leave her body that fast. Oh, why? Why did she have to go to her favorite café today? Why did she have to decide this would be a nice day to go out? When she was heading to this place, she never imagined this could turn out to be the worst idea she had ever had. She was supposed to have a hot drink while reading her book in peace; she was supposed to have a good time after a tiresome week of work.

Everything was out of control now, and there was not any logic to what she was living at this very moment. The picture she was seeing was so surreal that for a second she believed she might be delirious, that this might be all in her head. This could not be happening to her; this had to be a nightmare from which she would soon wake up— or so she hoped.

But it all seemed so real, so cruel. This was murder with the face of a dead man in the ground next to her— it was despair in the form of a mother clutching her crying child in her arms, it was horror in the eyes of the people around her that silently prayed to get out of this unharmed. And she was losing heart, losing her mind. She did not know what to do for never had she been so close to Death's gates before now.

It felt like hours before she heard him speak over the hum of sobs and sniffles that flooded the place in a distressing song that made her feel so miserable, so exposed, that she did not dare to look at him for fear he might kill her if she did.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Can you walk?" He asked her all at once while reloading his gun, the metallic sound of the deadly device making her shiver in apprehension at the thought of having been nearly shot at just a few moments ago. She only nodded, her voice suddenly lost, and he grabbed her by the arm, shoving her into crawling to the direction of the large wooden counter a few meters ahead of them. "Grab your things. We need to get out of here. _Now_!"

He knew that if he did not move fast, more of them would be coming after him. By now, he was sure they already knew where he was and he would be stupid if he let himself to be caught in such an easy to work out situation. As a veteran of the brutal Vietnamese and Korean Wars, and a seasoned warrior that had been through hell and many tricky and testing circumstances before, he knew this was a walk in the park.

They had to be scouts, or else he would have had an entire task force after his trail— something he was sure would not take long to happen.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." He heard her utter as she tried to wriggle from his grasp, miserably failing when she felt her hands and face sting at the new burning and sharp pain that began to boil her skin. To her alarm, small shards of glass had painfully dug in her flesh during her adrenaline rush, and warm blood was oozing from the cuts. She felt more desperate now that she knew she was hurt, and anxiously tried to pull them out only to find that her slick and bloodied hands pushed them further in, making her yelp in frustration rather than pain.

"Don't." He kept her hands from doing any more damage and she looked at him, noticing that he also had some nicks on his whiskered pale cheeks, but the pair of black leather gloves he was wearing had managed to protect him from the sharp crystalline flakes, that inertly twinkled on the floor next to her feet dressed in brownish chamois boots. "We'll take care of that later."

"I said I'm not going with you." She weakly but mulishly stated, forgetting the discomfort she was feeling when his narrowed eyes darted to her confused form, scrutinizing it with such a nerve-racking stare, his thin lips curved into a light sneer of irritation at her rebuff. He did not look pleased with her words in the slightest, but at the moment she could careless as a noxious foreboding coldly crawled up her spine and to the base of her nape, leaving a trail of unwanted sensations that made her tremble in fear.

"Very well. Guess you can take care of yourself, then." He scoffed through his teeth, swiftly turning his back to her, and started to walk away in a crouched position while she gave him a befuddled stare from her safe spot under the table. "You can stay here and be dead meat, or try and get out of this mess on your own. I don't care."

He admitted he felt a little guilty by having dragged her into this disaster, but at least he had offered his help— a help she unthinkingly refused to accept out of distrust. He did not blame her, though. No one in his right mind would trust a man they barely knew after being almost murdered, but if she was caught there was no telling of what would happen to her for the next forty-eight hours… that was, if she managed to survive the first twenty-four ones— they thought she was his friend and for a moment he had thought she could be one, too. He knew what they would do to the girl once she was captured. It was a matter of time until she collapsed and gave in to their psychological and physical pressure. He, better than anyone else, knew there were many ways to break someone… but none of them was of any use if there was nothing to be revealed in the first place.

He had barely made it; he almost could not endure the pain of such torments inflicted upon him… he much doubted she could undergo the same and live to tell the tale; and once they were done with her, it all would result in a case of someone who was at the wrong time, at the wrong place. Her forced disappearance would become a file that would gather dust in the filing cabinets of the Police Department of her country. Witnesses would be threatened or paid to keep their mouths shut; family and friends would spend their years expecting to hear news about her whereabouts and what had become of her. No one would speak a word; all would be forgotten, eventually. What a cruel way for her life to end for, meanwhile, her ashes would have scattered all over the wastelands of a deserted landscape, leaving no traces that her corpse had burnt there. Or perhaps, she would end up in the depths of the ocean inside a block of concrete; maybe her flesh would serve as food to the hungry wolves of the woods. In any case, they would find a way to get rid of her…

If her body was found, investigations would conclude that a psychopath, namely him, was the one who had murdered the young and sweet teacher of primary school; of course, not before making up some gory and disgusting story about how he raped her to death, carved her limbs up with an ax and all the sickening background revolving around his disturbing record of crimes.

Why did he even bother with her.

Trying to pull herself together, she dared to throw a last glance at the corpse beside her, and violently shivered at the thought of sharing the same fate. To think that only a few minutes ago the poor man had been chatting about how happy the idea of being father made him, with whom she guessed was his wife, before harshly collapsing to the floor with a dull sound and bullet in his temple. For goodness' sake! What kind of world did she live in? This was what she wondered as she watched the woman cry her eyes out while holding on tightly her beloved's lifeless body. She wanted to cry, too, but the initial shock had not allowed her to shed any tears as her eyes travelled to look across the room, spotting the other two dead mean limply reclined on their seats, one displaying a fleshy opening in his left eye and the other one with signs of having died of a shot in the neck, since his bloodied hand was still grasping his throat in what looked like an action made out of reflex after the projectile had painfully torn the soft muscles of his esophagus. The two of them had carried handguns that now loosely dangled from the tip of their fingers, and she found herself futilely conjecturing on who had been the one to make the first move.

That was when a burst of bullets had made their way past just above her head and caused her to bite her tongue in sheer fright due to the sudden blast, tasting the metallic bittersweet flavor that began to invade her mouth as a new ripple of screams erupted from the civilians that were squatted or prone on the floor. _She did not want to die. She did not want to die._ She was not going to die like this, once and again those thoughts flooded her mind in a vicious whirl that wiped what little commonsensical logic was left in her.

Slowly, apprehensively and without knowing it, the words had left her mouth in a frantic and wretched manner whilst she awkwardly tried to crawl on the floor, desperate to find some kind of shelter and protection in him. Her mind could not weigh the consequences of her actions just then. The only thing she knew was that if he had saved her once, he could do it once more.

"Wait! Please, wait!"

Talk about reverse psychology, he fleetingly thought before the sight of her slightly scratched young face reminded him that she was not that far from being a child— at least, in his eyes.


	2. No Turning Back

**A/N:**

_So, yeah… second chapter. It surprises me how fast I managed to update this fic o_o _

_Any Mason lovers out there? It cannot be that only three girls in the whole site are crushing over him, right? :( unless you don't like OCs, which I completely understand._

_A big thanks to __**SMakarov**__ for her helpful review :) I promise I'll try not to bore you with my tedious narrative ; A ; I am so sorry! Writing the longest, stupidest and most pointless paragraphs you can imagine is like a curse for me! I apologize for that._

_Another point I would like to make is that the timeline of the story takes place between Mason's and… err… the woman's first meeting, and how their relationship developed (?) until the point Alex has to take his leave. All that I ask from the readers is patience… all will be explained in due time._

_Not much to say. Listening to 'Singing in the Rain' for two hours so… that explains it all ; A ; it's 03:00 in the morning and… if you see any typos or grammar mistakes, let me know please. At this point, I am so tired of reading over my work for the umpteenth time that it is inevitable for me to overlook some things. I'll try to fix them as soon as I can, I promise. _

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**Chapter II **

**V.**

In an abrupt movement he had raised his left arm and closed his fist, silently commanding her to hold her position behind him. Actually, he was not expecting for the dark-haired female to take in his gesture, but his body had reacted out of reflex before he had the chance to repress the action. It was no surprise since many years in the military had bred some old habits, that even he found hard to break: he always woke up early every morning, out of a mere routine that would compel him to get up and work his body out, even in the coldest of days. The fact he had a writing utensil with him at all times in case the occasion called for a critical jotting in the middle of a predicament— a pencil to write the letters he used to send to his family during his days in Korea, waging war in muddy trenches while trying to ignore the exhaustion his body felt from his exertions to survive.

He never let his guard down when in foreign territory, never seemed able to relax for a mere second as he believed there was always danger lurking, and sometimes it drove him paranoid. He also found himself, many times, unconsciously studying people's behavior when speaking with them, in attempts to unveil their true intentions. To this day, it was hard for him to suppress his tendency of carrying everything with his left hand, only in case he needed to reach for his weapon.

And he always carried a knife… always.

He did not have to worry if she understood his visual sign, though, since she had long stopped on her tracks when the foreign echo of footsteps reached her ears, her heart skipping a beat at the prospect of close peril. Instinctively, the woman's eyes searched her surroundings for any kind of potential weapon to wield should things go wrong for him, anything that could be of use, only to find the spotless cleanness of the place hopeless and pessimistic— although she had a strong hunch she would not stand a single chance before those armed men that were after him. She could only try and save her life, even if it meant by tooth and nail.

Who was she trying to kid?

Thin fingers ghosting over his strong forearm, she mutely pleaded to whoever was up there to give her a third chance at life as she fought the urge to grip it like the coward she felt. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and she slowly swallowed, nervously nodding to let him know she trusted him and whatever he needed her to do, she would obey without a second thought. Trusting her safety to him looked like a better idea than trusting in her inexperienced self at the moment, she decided.

Placing a lone index finger on his lips, he made a request for her to keep quiet and indicated her to take cover behind the employees' locker with a quick wave of his hand. Without wasting any time, she did as he instructed and crouched at the back of the modestly large fixture. It would be futile if she stayed and pretended she could be of help since she had nothing to contribute to the assault he seemed to be planning— why else would he ask her to remain out of sight until he was ready to strike? If anything, she would surely get in the way of things and, probably, lead him to his defeat.

And so she waited in the safety of her hiding place… waited for the inevitable to come; holding her breath all the while for fear that the next lungful of air could be her death sentence; tightly closing her eyes as she bit her lips and braced herself for the worst. There could not be anything worse than Death itself, right? Perhaps there could. The fear of not knowing what lay beyond, in the afterlife. Would it hurt as much as they said? Would she remember the pain? Was there a place for her in Paradise or would she instead find her soul in the realm of Limbo, waiting for the judgment of King Minos to decide her fate? [1]

A muffled voice reverberated in the room, and a body loudly colliding with cold metal made her jump in fear as she heard the powerful struggles, low growls and heavy pants that he and another male forced out of their mouths while they fought hand to hand, none of them willing to surrender since the tussle grew more violent with every second. She had definitely forgotten how to breathe by now, and her body had frozen in apprehension at the close proximity the clash was unfolding, feeling the locker viciously shaking behind her.

"Trying to play the hero for your country, _Joe_?" He hissed, apparently making a great effort to keep the other man still. "Now tell me, what is The Company planning to do and I may give you a quick death."

That statement alone was enough to make her shudder at the way he had said it, like he would felt no remorse in carrying out his threat— it made her wonder what kind of mindsets he had; why these men were after him. Were they some kind of Mafia? Probably. Did those movies not show them mindlessly shooting at shops in a maniac frenzy out of the blue? Oh, what was she getting herself into? She did not know, but certainly the panorama was getting uglier with every thought that crossed her mind.

It was then that she heard weak laughter breaking the cadence of low huffs that had saturated the room with a sensation of utter uncertainty and aggression— a laughter that made her concern increase even more at the mocking connotation it clearly hid.

"Regardless of what you do it's all in vain, Mason. They already know you're here. Uncle Sam wants your head on a silver plate. You are alone in this. _Alone_. You need to die; you should be dead by now. And even if it's not by my hand today, some else will get the wet job done. You can hide, but you can't escape forever. You can't—"

A strangled groan was the last thing she heard before the thud of a heavy body hitting the floor let her know that there were worse things than the feeling of shards of glass painfully digging in her skin; worse than the fear of not knowing what was going on anymore, and the fact another man had been virtually killed right in front of her face— being aware that she was at the mercy of a seemingly cold-blooded murderer, was one of them.

And yet again, she wondered what she was getting herself into.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**VI.**

She just had to let go of him, say goodbye and hold this as a fond reminiscence of those days by his side. How difficult could it be? Everything must come to an end, sooner or later. Her part in his story had concluded; she had to accept it. He did not need her any longer.

But the thing was: she did not want to let go. Oh! Seeing him standing before her made her desperately want to grab the sleeve of his shirt, tell him the news and see what his reaction would be. She wanted that so badly… and while she believed and dreamed she was revealing to him the reason for this bittersweet feeling, he heard different from her.

"In that case… I can only hope for the best." She added with a light and rather nervous smile, trying to fight back the tears that wanted to spill from her eyes.

He had warned her this would happen, and yet she did not listen to his words. He had told her not to drive him to do something they both might regret later… but she had been too young and careless to worry about tomorrow. And how could she listen? How could she stop when the look in the eyes of the much older male revealed so many secrets that meant to be kept— when their dark promise seemed to be calling out to her, luring her like a rabbit into a trap? How could she restrain herself from feeling these damn butterflies in the pit of her stomach whenever she caught his gaze scrutinizing her being, looking through her very soul? How could she hold back her desire to feel those strong and large hands caressing her skin— those very hands that had promised to take her to Heaven, Hell, and back.

He was the only one who had seen potential in her. He had been the only one to have faith in her; to give her the chance to discover things within her that she never knew were there. But if there was one thing she could not understand quite well, it had to be the true intentions that had led her to help him on her own accord when the world seemed to be crushing him under its might. Was it the stout fierce look in his eyes that had caught her in his well woven net the first time she met his gaze? Perhaps it was her drive to know his darkest secrets. Maybe it was her hidden fantasy of living the dangerous situations he engaged in. Situations that made her experience a horrid fear in the flesh, which only increased her trust in him whenever he protected her from harm and so did his trust in her every time she had gotten his back. Or it might be the way he made her forget the loneliness that had been eroding her short life for some time; how he made her grow into being a less ignorant mind…

And now he had made her the happiest woman in the whole world, but she could not tell him why. What was she to do when the matters of heart did not have a place in his life?

In her old life, there had been nobody at home waiting for her. Her existence had been lived in this small and cold capsule she called home; her dwelling and her work being the only world she knew of. She barely talked to her neighbors in the apartment building she lived in, and her social life was practically nonexistent. All her time had been spent in her efforts to qualify as a teacher with the financial support of her Mother whom, to her dismay, she was only able to visit during Christmas, and her new husband to whom the young woman was grateful to. She thought he was a good man, and if it made her Mother happy, then it was enough for her to be content.

All in all, her life had nothing exciting to it and was not unpredictable. But the lackluster routine she had grown accustomed to in these peaceful days was quiet and nice though a bit lonely for her taste, and she started to wonder if something as thrilling as the stories she had read would ever happen to her. Oh, if only she had known life was not a piece of cake as she had thought it was! If only she had known she would come to regret those unwise thoughts all too soon, for never in her life had she expected to be thrown into a messy and wrong world of which she had never known before. Never had she imagined that her eyes would be opened to a repulsive truth and the secret history she never found in text books.

And it sickened her when she found out the appalling reality that had been veiled from the people all this time.

Thousands of nuclear and biochemical weapons, and millions of lives at the stake of a minor mistake; about the net of lies under the governmental and military actions meant to cover atrocities such as the massacre of innocent people just to justify wars and offensives; the ghastly Project MK-Ultra of the U.S., which had engaged unwitting American and Canadian citizens in various forms of torture just for the sake of 'experimenting in the behavioral engineering of humans' and the manipulation of mind; or the dreadful Nova-6 and its vile effects on human beings. He had told her about how the Russians had tested the neurotoxin on their own soldiers, on civilians— on children, and it was then that she started to weep in hurt and impotent anger, thinking that those kids must have been around the same age as her little ones in school. She could not understand how anyone could be so heartless as to hurt an innocent being. It made her heart boil in rage as he tried to comfort her, saying that the monsters who had perpetrated those unforgivable actions were now burning in hell. They had been hunted down; their despicable lives had been put to an end— but the price to pay had been high, for him.

Her admiration for the American man grew a little more and, soon, she began to fall for this fearless dark hero against her will. Even if she tried to lie to herself, to blame this vehement and intense emotion on the fact that she had spent too much time alone with him, the idea of being important to someone was all too moving and stirring— it awakened unknown feelings she had never felt before and, somehow, it scared her how strong they seemed to be. It made her heart beat faster every time she saw him lost in his thoughts when he was seated outside, the tropical dampness in the air sticking to his faintly tanned skin as she, timidly, tried to proffer him with some homemade food of her own; it made her think of how handsome he looked whenever he took a white roll of shredded tobacco from a curiously engraved silver cigarette case (a gift from an old friend of his, he said), lit it and smirked at her unsophisticated wonderment, wordlessly inviting her to spend some time with him.

It surprised her how gentle and friendly he could be whenever he wanted to.

She listened till the break of dawn… listened to this comforting and soothing silence until a voice dragged her out of her warm thoughts.

He began talking… about how he met his good friend Mason in the midst of the misery and hypocritical decadence of Vorkuta; the story on how they fought their way to be freed from the arrogance and corruption of their evil leaders. That day the Gulag had burned, the walls were painted in blood, limbs were torn and sacrifices, made; they fought against their oppressors; they fought for honor, for vengeance, and for justice along with their brethren. They did not falter, they had nothing to lose— they had rather die trying than keep living under the tyranny and shame of these dishonored men. There was no denying of the pride he felt when a smile surfaced on his thin lips and before she knew it he was gone like a ghost, fading in the snow-storm of a wintry night, leaving her with a bitter feeling in her tongue, a poignant sensation in her stomach, and confusion in her heart as she took in the account of this man whose name was one she had definitely heard before— a name that was always whispered by _his_ lips whenever he slept.

Alex's green eyes gave her a confused look while she finished drying her tears with the back of her hand, lying that she suddenly felt homesick with a nervous smile. For heaven's sake, the only thing she seemed to ever do was crying and it was beginning to irk her— or more like annoy her at how easy she could be moved. However, it was not entirely a lie since she truly missed her family and longed for the warmth of her former home. In other circumstances, maybe she would have taken Alex with her and introduced him to her parents as her friend. A very good friend, she liked to think. And despite being conscious that her loved ones were, surely, really worried by her sudden disappearance, she believed that, eventually, she would be able to see them again.

She only hoped that day would not come too late. [2]

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**VII.**

She slowly inched from her hiding spot, only to gasp at the sight of a gory mess and a wide-eyed man lying on the floor with a gash on his aorta, mouth agape in silent pain, and she felt like vomiting at the sweet yet sour smell of iron rust and salt that was beginning to fill her nostrils in a sickening wave. It made her head dizzy and light as his voice kept muttering things she barely understood, too shaken to by this sudden madness. She had never been so close to Death before, and seeing four corpses in a single day was sending her over the edge in ways she could not even understand.

"_Oh. My. God_." It came out as a whisper but it was not long before she started to break. "_Oh… my God_… _OH MY GOD_!" It seemed to be the only thing she was able to say in a cracked voice while he grabbed an assault rifle, and a couple of magazines kept in a tactical vest, from the deceased. By now her mind was in such a spineless state, that the mere sight of his face slightly splashed in red terrorized her— and yet again, only one thought came to her head. "_Oh, God_!"

"If you keep saying it, I'll end up believing you." He gave the youngster a sardonic stare and motioned for her to get on her feet as he glanced outside the back door. There was a narrow alley with a dead end to his left, and to his right the ostensibly deserted street could be seen from where he stood. So he narrowed his eyes as he clutched his weapon, warily scanning the rooftops for any signs of threat and, fast but alert, proceeded to the passage with caution.

Four men; he had counted four men earlier. There was still one to go.

"Let's get going." He ordered, but when he did not hear her light footsteps follow he went back on his tracks only to find that she had remained in her spot on the floor, unwaveringly staring at the corpse as if she was afraid it might bite her, and grew annoyed at the way she was wasting precious time. He was sure that it would not take long for more reinforcements to arrive to the place and, regardless of whatever tricks he might pull of, there was a high chance for him to lose the encounter. He too had his limitations, after all. "Come on, we don't have all day! Get your ass in gear, or I'll leave you behind!"

Gasping in surprise, she tried to swallow her fear and nodded as those words reminded her that his side might be the only safe place at this point. Or maybe not? She was so irresolute, unable to make her mind up. She still thought she was in a nightmare of sorts, and wished with all her might to wake up from it. Nonetheless, she hurried her steps to go after him almost stumbling on the way when another wave of wooziness attacked her without warning.

"Who are these men?" The woman built the courage to ask, resting her weight on the brick wall, once they were outside, as she held her head in one hand. One thing she was sure of, they were no Mafia as she had thought at first— not the kind she would have expected, at least. These men seemed well prepared and trained for this situation, if her poor and meager judgment served right, but the one in front of her had bested them in their own game. And also, the talk they had before— Uncle Sam? That meant the US wanted him dead? Just what was going on? She suddenly felt her blood running cold in her veins as her voice faltered in her dry throat. "Who… who are you?"

She was greeted with silence, and her worry increased with every second that ticked by, making her feel the urge to repeat her question in an attempt to get the much needed answer.

"If you want me to go with you, then at least I… I think…" What was she going to say now? "I think I deserve to know who you are!" She had no intention of running away with him now, but she wanted to know who she was dealing with before trying to escape. For all that she knew he could be some kind of terrorist, and if she stayed any longer with him the authorities would think that she was his accomplice. They would see her as his collaborator, his partner in crime and _that_ she was not! She was not!

"You've heard it. I'm Mason." He finally answered, not paying much mind to the continuous chattering of her teeth next to his ear seeing as he had much more imperative matters to worry about than the fact she felt cold, and only wore a light greenish sweater. She, on the other hand, could not decide if it was the cold or anxiety that now made her shake like a leaf. Still, she wished she had her leather coat to keep her warm but, unfortunately, it had remained behind along with her other belongings when she was trying to escape from the dragon's jaws— it had remained behind…

_Behind_.

It hit her like a ton of bricks, then! In her imprudent rush, she had forgotten to grab her purse, and her identification had been left inside of it! At first, she had though it could be her salvation but soon her miraculous epiphany shattered, leaving her in a fret that almost made her hit her head against the wall. If the Police were to find it, she would be in deep trouble and explaining that she was taken 'hostage' by him would do nothing to earn her some credibility since people had already witnessed her running off with him. That would be enough for them to assume something that was not true, from her perspective at least.

She seriously needed to escape now.

"Mason, huh?" She gave a forceful laughter when she actually wanted to cry, and he eyed her with a serious look that was meant to tell her to not disturb him in such a distressing moment. "Err… look, I'm really grateful that you saved my life, but… huh, you see… I—"

As if on cue, another burst of bullets silenced her and out of impulse the female dropped to the floor, fresh tears now blurring her vision while she curled behind a trash container, desperate to save her life. She was really regretting her decision of going out this day. If only she had stayed at home… if only she had! She wanted out of this hell- She wanted for this nightmare to end now!

"Dammit!" Mason gritted through his teeth while mentally cursing other profanities as his body plummeted next to hers. He got distracted for a stupid second and almost got his brains blown by a slug. "Can't we just leave this shit for another time?! I don't wanna kick the bucket like this, you know?" He reprimanded her while watchfully sticking out his head to see if his foe was still there. No such luck, since the raucous roar of a car speeding up and driving down the street made his face fall even more when he realized that the last one had escaped and, undoubtedly, would report his positive presence in the city and an account of the events to his superiors.

Biting his tongue to stop himself from saying too much, he stood up, discarded the weapon in the trash container and glanced at her crying and trembling form, bent in a fetal position on the ground as she murmured what could only be described as futile pleas while rapid pants were heaved from her mouth.

Sooner than the woman expected, she felt someone grab her by the arm and yank her to her feet, shaking her in a violent manner as she squealed in surprise and fear.

"No! Let go of me! You're only trying to use me as a shield so you are not shot!" She said hysterically while trying to break free from his bruising grasp, and he rolled his eyes at her stupid assumption that she could serve as a safeguard for him.

"Shield? What fucking shield are you talking about? Do you think I can use you like a one and get out of here in one piece? These guys won't even bother to give it a second thought before shooting, even if you were in the way. Does it look to you as if they gave a damn before?" He tried to reason, but it was all in vain. She had already broken and gave into pressure, and for a moment he considered the option of slapping her in the face to end her panic attack that was beginning to get on his nerves, but settled on keeping shaking her until she snapped out of it instead. She was of no use to him in this state and, once more, he wondered why he did not listen to the Ice Cube's advice. Of course, he had not been expecting to find a commando woman but this one was such a wimp and had no resilience at all!

He seriously was beginning to question his own sanity. That was, if there was any left.

And she kept crying her eyes out.

"Please, j-just leave me here! I'm just a primary school teacher! I don't— I don't want any of this! Please, I'm only twenty-two years old! Don't kill me!" She pleaded, fighting to breathe as she felt she was being suffocated by her own pitiful whimpers. "I- I swear I won't tell anyone that I saw you but please, don't hurt me! Please! I don't want to die!"

And he saw in her teary eyes that she was just a girl— one that was scared beyond her own comprehension. He saw that she knew nothing of the world, and that she had dreams like he once had when he was younger— dreams of serving his country and fighting for what he had deemed was a right cause. He saw the same fear that had lived in the shadows of his mind, where the demons of his haunting past dwelled in the rabid storms of a dark sea full of disturbing memories.

_Fear._

Just as she was trying to gather the strength to knee him in the groin, and flee from him, he forcefully grabbed her face and she suddenly found herself staring in the depths of sea green eyes… those very eyes that had made her think of the color of the Caribbean Sea in a sunny day when she saw them for the first time. She felt like drowning in this ocean that seemed to engulf her entire being, cooling her from the inside with their fresh hue. It brought goose bumps to her skin at the close proximity they were; and the way his ragged breath, mixed with his purely masculine scent, fanned on her face made her feel weak at the knees again. He towered her, and she felt so small… so insignificant before his impressive influence.

"Listen to me!" His voice was gruff and rough, demanding, but it did not help with the situation at all. She still was a sobbing mess, and the fact that she did not want to look him in the eye was starting to upset him since it meant he had to gain her trust somehow. He did not have time for all this psychological nonsense now, and he was feeling very tempted to leave her to be a diversion for the CIA, but… he would have to start all over again with another member of her family, and time was something he did not intend on misuse or waste anymore. "No, no! Look at me." He tried to soften the tone of his voice in hopes this would get her to feel more at ease with him. She was so thrilled by his commanding voice, so helpless under his controlling demeanor that she kept diverting her eyes to the floor as she muttered a weak refusal. She did not want to look at him. He made her feel intimidated, scared and vulnerable.

She just could not bring herself to do it…

"Look at my face, okay? I promise I'm not gonna hurt you, Miss. My name is Alex Mason, and I'm only trying to save your life." He paused when he noticed that his words somehow had a satisfactory effect on her, since she stopped crying, at least. It was a start, though he needed to be careful with his words. "Listen to me, I need your help. My country wants me dead and if I let you go now, I'm afraid bad things are gonna happen to you. These people are hunting me, and if they happen to capture you they won't believe you when you tell them you know nothing about me, even if it's true. You can either stick with me or suffer in their hands. It's your choice. I'll let you go, if that's what you wish, but there's no telling of what will happen to you after you this."

If he gave her options, a relative freedom, the power to choose, if he made her believe he was her only escape now, it would surely make him deserving of her reliance to some degree… even if it was born of fear and confusion.

But he had never expected it to be so easy to get her to say yes after his smooth-talking. And when he gently grabbed her by the arm all he could think of was how naïve she had been to trust him, as they abandoned the alley just in time to run off from the approaching sirens and their flickering shades of blues and reds that threatened to take their freedom away.

She had willingly put her life in his hands— his blood-stained hands…

And now there was no turning back.

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[1] A reference to King Minos of Dante's Divine Comedy. 'With his tail coiled around him, Minos judges the damned as they are brought down to hell.'

[2] I think I'll leave it to the reader's interpretation, whether Mason was acting as Reznov again or… some supernatural phenomenon… ; A ; don't kill me for that!


	3. Dance with the Night Wind

**A/N:**

_Hi!_

_I'm finally updating this fic, after two months. To be honest, I thought I would never do it! Sorry for the delay, so sorry for that! Hope you still are interested on the story, as I am planning on continuing it :D_

_And, everything is welcomed! Feel free to love or hate, but please review! ; A ; _

_**EDIT 02/21/13:**_

_The chapter has been updated. I realized I uploaded the wrong file! If you spot any typos, misspellings, and grammar mistakes again, I deeply apologize! I swear that I check over my works over a thousand times but, as expected, I can never fix them all. _

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**Chapter III**

**VIII.**

**Mason [REDACTED] Paris, France [REDACTED] March 23rd, 1978**

**[REDACTED]**

Ever since they had escaped from the café in a frenzied haste, she had been roughly explained about the current and complicated situation they were engaged in at the moment. One of the important matters she had been informed so far about Alex Mason was that he was a CIA agent— or had been, in any case, since The Agency was in the hunt for him. He once more had said he needed her help, but when she tried to question why Alex merely replied that such important details should be discussed later as their main priority, at this point, was to get to safe haven— namely, his hideaway. This had left her with a taste of confusion as she followed him suit through the more or less crowded Rue Mouffetard, one of his strong arms hooked around her shoulders as though they were a couple. It felt a little odd and, for a second, it flustered her to share such a daring intimacy coming from a man she had recently met in rather unconventional circumstances, to say the least.

Her eyes stared at the pair of feet, clad in dark leather work boots, marching alongside hers in a firm but hasty pace, his ostensibly strong confidence showing in every of his heavy steps. The uneasiness did not fade for a single moment while she let him guide her through this sea of orange hues that emanated from the streetlights, the lyrics of some forgotten old tango as a companion, wondering what a man such as himself could possibly need from her— a simple woman who was of no importance to the state system that had its own problems to deal with. A most pitiful and pathetic existence was the one she carried, and that had been the reason why she sought shelter in her romantic stories and books of adventures, being too afraid to face the pains of the real world ever since her Father's demise.

Who knew love could hurt so much? Still, she was a romantic— a helpless one, and the only problem was that she was a coward one, too. A girl that was scared to live; one that had been from the moment she had buried her old man after he died of pulmonary cancer when she was five years old.

She had furtively studied Mason's manly features with fleeting glances, foolishly believing that those glimpses had gone unnoticed by him as his greenish eyes– the only giveaway to his concealed edginess– were alert to the urban surroundings, scanning nonstop. It was hard to not feel nervous when the sirens still howled dangerously close to their position, a few streets behind, and she did not know what to expect anymore. The worst thing was that she was not prepared to face the inconceivable dangers that would fall upon this unforeseen and unintended journey, she had been virtually forced to be in, and how could she when lies were the only thing she had been fed with.

It seemed that he was peeking at her from the corner of his eye and she quickly looked ahead, feeling a little ashamed, and pretended to be too focused on their way across the Square de la Rue Ortolan, soon reaching Rue Ortolan. To be honest, she had not meant to be rude; she was just worried as to what he had to say since nothing made sense and the more she pondered about it, the more her desire to know the truth grew to the point of clawing at the walls of her mind. She had to be crazy to be doing something like this— to allow a complete stranger to take her away. She was not being herself, and how could she under this nail-biting stress.

Returning her gaze to Alex, in hopes he would not notice, she was quite surprised when she spotted a black cap that had not been on his head before, but did not inquire about the matter as it was not of importance, instead choosing on focusing on a more important issue that had nearly carved a hole in her brain.

"What are we going to do now?" Her voice came in a shaky whisper while she attempted to conceal her red-stained hands under the sleeves of her light sweater, the discomfort and pain almost forgotten by then. There was no time to think about such a trivial thing like her injuries when her whole life had changed in the blink of an eye. One moment she was having a hot cocoa and enjoying herself; the next, she was meeting Alex Mason, who was followed by the eternal fire of Hell. "And why do they want you dead? What is it that you need me for?"

"You've heard of the CIA before, right?" His own voice sounded so calm and aloof, it almost looked like he was doing casual talking. She might have believed he was, if not for the fact he had asked about one of the most famous and yet most undisclosed organizations in the whole world.

"Yes. What about it?" The female frowned while craning her neck to his direction, suppressing a dry swallow when she found him regarding her with such an invading stare, his green pools narrowing just a little as if he were in deep thought. What he was thinking she could not tell for sure, but he seemed to be carefully formulating his next statement, diverting his eyes from her face.

"What is it that you know about them, exactly?" Alex questioned briefly looking behind, perhaps to ensure there was nothing suspicious going on around. One could never be too vigilant and cautious nowadays, she would hear him say one day.

"Well," she began, hesitant and unsure of what he was up to, "as far as my restricted knowledge goes, it's an intelligence department of the United States that was formed in 1947 and…" she struggled with her words, feeling much like a student during a test while forcing herself to remember the information, now of all times, "i-it succeeded the Office of Strategic Services, which was dissolved not long after the end of World War Two." Finishing her short description, she nipped at her bottom lip rather anxiously. "Why do you ask?"

"And do you know about its activities?" Mason seemed intent on making questions instead of giving an explanation for all this, and the woman could not help but think that maybe he had gotten the wrong person. Why would she be familiar with the freaking CIA's actions and interests in the first place? She did not work for them, nor did she know anyone that did for that matter!

"Espionage? Black and gray propaganda? Plotting ways to bring the Communist threat to an end? Clandestine activities and secret agendas of which I'm sure I don't want to know for the sake of my life?" She dearly tried to keep her voice low, terrified that her words could bring harm upon her as she finally put two and two together. It did not take a genius to do so, though, as it was becoming rather evident in his words. What she really needed to know was what she had to do with this predicament. "Why is the CIA trying to kill you?"

Whatever this man had done, it undoubtedly was weighty and major. These people never wasted their time on irrelevant and petty affairs, and her fears were beginning to take shape, slowly, but she dared not make premature assumptions as of yet.

"You only got the tip of the iceberg there, Miss." He half-chuckled, ignoring her questions yet again, but it was not funny to her. At all. However, the American did not confirm her suspicions neither did he deny them. Was he expecting for her to figure this out on her own? She wanted to retort, but was caught off guard when the brunette male came to an abrupt stop near a set of stairs that led to the subway station of Place Monge. She watched Mason give his wristwatch a quick check before he simply informed her that they would be taking the Métro to the Northern part of Paris. The woman, however, had no time to ask where exactly they were heading to as he had already disappeared downstairs, while she was checking the map of the route, forcing her to rush to catch up with his strides.

"I think you've made a mistake, in all honesty." Her legs wobbled a little as she descended to a fate unknown in this tunnel of apparent salvation and temporary freedom— a tunnel whose end seemed to shine with light, and promised to release them from this tridimensional prison humans were trapped within, and would be until history and memory were no more. The future was really sad. The future was nothing more than black. "Why do you think I can be of help? I- I- I can barely protect myself! You don't want a weakling ruining your plans, do you? People like me tend to do that a lot. Believe me. You don't actually want someone like me."

She was not trained. She was not a strategist. She was not in possession of vital information, and she would not know how to seduce someone for the life of hers! Why would a man, who was being hounded by 'the business of secrets', claim that he required _her_ assistance, was left to anyone's guessing— much to her dismay. Maybe the guy had entered the wrong café, or maybe he was not right in the head and had finally lost it. Or perhaps, he was just desperate. If that was the case, what was left for her?

"And why is that?" Mason's awful coolness amazed her, making her wish she could stay as calm as him— if only as a façade. "As long as your name is Corinne Lafleur, that's enough for me."

"Yeah, but—" Stopping mid-sentence, she suddenly realized that not even once had she mentioned her name to him and new questions were bred right then. "How do you even—?"

"I wouldn't be asking someone's aid if I didn't know who they are, now would I?" His tone was quite sardonic, as if he were stating the obvious, while subtly rolling his eyes. But how was she supposed to know that he did not looked like the kind of man who would walk into a coffee bar, greet a random woman and then haul her outside– well, more like she agreed to go with him– after having his body nearly perforated by bullets? She certainly had not had time to ruminate any of this, and it scared her to even imagine the outcome.

"_That_ doesn't answer my question!" Corinne gritted her frustration. "Who in the world are you, and I'm not talking about what your name is, and why the hell is the very CIA after your trail?" She was feeling very tempted to leave, but did not have much of a choice at the moment. Whether the young woman wanted it or not, she was in a mess and deserting him now did not seem something wise to do— was not something clever to do. What was she going to do if the agents found her? If the stories were true, she was most certain she would die, in the better of the cases. She knew she would wish she was dead, sooner or later.

This truly was much worse than she had thought at the beginning.

"I used to work for them until some… complications arose." He stated matter-of-factly, purchasing two tickets for the Métro, not even bothering to take the change from the man in the ticket window as he wanted to make haste. Corinne, who could not believe what she was hearing, found herself glued on her spot, unable to move or talk and, once more, Mason could not help but feel bothered at her, undeniably, innate and insufferable ability to waste critical time, grumbling something about how right had some Jason guy been as he grabbed her and quietly dragged her with him.

"H-how can you say that just like nothing?" She suddenly blurted, but soon regretted it when his eyes were fixed on her again, that nerve-wracking stare taking her breath away once more.

"What? Am I supposed to keep it a secret now?" Alex rasped in disbelief, lightly squeezing her forearm in reprehension, as they reached the platform just in time to mingle with the mass of people and board the train. "Never ask for answers if you're not ready to take them." He muttered while ushering her through the doors of the carriage just before they closed, her mouth agape in utter surprise as she felt his hand on the small of her back. It was true Corinne had wanted— no, needed answers. However, she had not been prepared to deal with something as revealing as this and this only added to her list of growing concerns to sort out. At first, she had not wanted to believe such a pretentious account to be true but, after the initial denial was overcome, she had no choice but to do so.

It all began to make sense now.

"Even so…" Corinne mumbled, placing her gaze on her feet as she now noticed the transport making its first stop after a minute's travel. "I don't understand what I have to do with all this. _What_ do you want from me?"

Did she really want to know?

"I need to find someone; someone that you know." It was a wonder how he managed to make out her sentences amidst the droning chatting and muffled laughter drifting in the air. The lack of oxygen was suffocating her by now, as her body was being crushed by other people, but she tried to endure and make her best by breathing deep and long, not wanting to break in panic this time. Fear was not going to get her anywhere, and it would only cause her to take more stupid decisions, she decided before looking him in the eye again, uncovering the awkward fact that he had been staring at her, expectant and intently, in the closeness of a small space that was all that had been left for them to share.

"It didn't occur to you that you may be looking for another person by the same name? Mine is rather common here." This had to be some really awful mistake, right? "And whoever it is you're seeking, I'm positive I don't know them."

"You certainly do." Alex added truly convincingly while the train continued its drive; its abrupt movements as it slid in the railways made her give a small squeal, her hands blindly searching for some kind of support only to fall upon the embarrassing impression that she was feeling his, remarkably, solid chest. If she had not been so worried and fretful about her fate, she would have thought of this as amorous and even rousing as he whispered in her ear, placing his hand on the back of her neck, sensing her shivers and the goose bumps on her skin. "William Clarke is his name." [1]

Corinne tried to find composure, now determined to ask what this was all about, but sensed the saliva going directly to her lungs and a fit of cough overcame her, numbing any thought of unearthing this difficult conundrum. Mason gently patted her back as she fought to breathe, one of her hands on her chest and small tears stinging her eyes as a painful pressure lingered on her torso, crushing her without mercy. Why was it that the bad things kept happening to her today, Corinne wondered again and again, while the people around turned to look at the commotion taking place, not daring to interfere as the older man was already helping her, massaging her shoulder blades in a loving fashion and murmuring soothing words— or so they thought.

"Damn, kid. Couldn't you attract more attention?"

"W-what?" She finally was able to take the words out, voice rough from the agonizing efforts to expel the fluid from her breathing tracts, which felt sore as though she had eaten gravel, and her heart fluttered in trepidation as Mason kept besieging her mind with surprises. Corinne's hazel eyes were wide and full of confusion now, whereas his green ones reflected nothing but a firmness and strength of soul that she had never seen before, and it unconsciously seduced her, without noticing the great influence his presence seemed to have on her inexperienced and almost naïve psyche. Alex Mason was really resolute to find William Clarke, for reasons unknown to her as of yet, and no one could stop him now— he will not let anyone stop him now. She did not know what to say, did not know what to do. How do you fight against a man's will? There is no way to escape the Call of Destiny when it knocks at your door, and Alex was knocking at hers.

He said nothing and looked out the window, much like Corinne had done while they were seated in the coffee shop that evening, as he adjusted his black cap so that his face remained in faint shadows. The sight was faintly curious to her, if not charming, as his green eyes showed a shade of weariness, like they were tired of life itself. It made her wonder about what kinds of things they had seen all throughout the years of his life; probably many brutal and cruel encounters that had scarred his body and soul. His eyes, those oceanic depths she would come to adore, were something that revealed so many things and yet it was hard to figure him out; he was like a riddle, an impossible one at that.

She took a look at his hands covered in black leather; what had those hands done? How many lives had they taken? How many bodies had they worshipped before? She knew she should not be doing this, but Corinne wondered if he had a wife, or a lover, waiting for him at home; she wondered if she was beautiful; if she missed him; if she was worried about him— if she even knew about what he was going through. Did he have kids; a family to care for? Would they be okay? Were they happy together?

But why did she even care about all this? She had her own dilemmas to cope with at this moment, and this man was at fault for that.

"I'll explain everything to you. I promise." Mason paused and sighed rather irritated while one of his hands rubbed his stubble in an impatient fashion. "I left something back there," by _there _she, somehow, understood that he was referring to the place they had met at. "It'll buy us some time, should it work." He knew that leaving a fake address, in a paper napkin no less, had to be one of the oldest and cheapest tricks in the world to try and mislead others, but it was worth the try, nonetheless. One never knew. Sometimes it was those little things the ones that could make a difference between life and death, the former Marine had learned over the course of the years.

With no evidence or sign of his whereabouts, the agents would be forced to move to another direction— one which was well far from his true destination. And Mason only hoped he had not made a mistake, like this girl had predicted.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

**X.**

The young and confused female heavily panted, the cold in the air condensing her brief and warm huffs and puffs as she and Mason made their way through the area of derelict and shady buildings, apprehension dangling like a sword above their heads— or rather, hers. The chilliness slapped her face in a relentless attack as the white snowflakes of a really unusual but light snowfall in late March, which promised to be the last of a bitter winter, became entangled in her brown hair, her lips feeling drier every time her tongue lapped at them in marked nervousness. Exhaustion began to affect her muscles as she felt her legs burning from her exertions to run away; her aching and bloodied hands were trembling in both fear and cold, and she found her throat to be as arid as the barren lands of the Atacama Desert.

Night had long fallen and the shadows casting over their weary bodies was able to provide some kind of covert as they scurried in those wretched streets, inhabited by equally wretched souls that had lost their place in this world— a world whose cruelty, which she had almost forgotten, was palpable to her now.

A sudden wave of warmth engulfed her for a brief moment, before it was carried away by the nippy wind, and her light-brown eyes looked from the dark-haired man, who was leading the way, to a small group of homeless people gathered around a fire, seemingly fed by anything they had been able to find in the urban waste of this monster of concrete that humans called city. The ginger flames crackled and created eerie shadows upon distressed and sad faces, their echo of hopelessness blending with that of those two fugitive's hurried steps towards uncertainty.

Life in the streets was undoubtedly a rough living, Corinne pondered while being careful to not fall behind. The last thing she wanted was getting lost in the city slums, now of all times. She had heard pretty bad stories, that she was not fond of recalling, about gang violence and how people had been robbed, raped and murdered in the suburbs, and the thought of ending in the same way caused her to dryly gulp what little moisture was left in her already dried up mouth.

How ironic, to escape from the jaws of Death only to fall in them again. This truly was incongruence in the shape of a mature and manipulative man, and a young woman who had been stupid enough as to be convinced by him. But now it was too late to turn back; it was a little too late to regret and rage over the quirks of fate that had her marching behind Alex, her only solace being that, at the very least, she was still alive. She should have thanked him for that, but then again if it were not for him, she would not be involved in any of his dilemmas.

"Do you have something to eat?" A voice asked her, and she all but squealed when she felt a hand grab her, none too gently, by the arm. Turning around, Corinne came face to face with an old woman whose faded eyes gazed at her almost pleadingly while one of her wrinkled and dirty hands clutched the sleeve of her pullover. "I'm really hungry, _Mademoiselle_. Please, anything will be fine."

Corinne felt a pang of pity and nervously smiled, trying to be polite, as she had been taught, and ignore the rather bad smell coming from the old lady before her. "Uum… I'm sorry; I don't have any food right now but..." Her brows furrowed as she began to dig in her back pockets, remembering that she had ten francs somewhere. "This is the only thing I have. Here, you can have it, _Madame_." The young woman offered her the money, which was rapidly ripped from her hands as the female disappeared without as much as a thank you, but Corinne did not mind. Clearly, this old woman desperately needed it more than her.

"What the hell are you doing?" Came Alex's annoyed voice and Corinne jumped in surprise as he approached her from behind and seized her shoulder, spinning her on her heels to get her full attention. She could not help but think that he was making a habit of grasping and grabbing her, and she wished she would not feel so self-conscious of his touch. Truth be told, she was not used to this kind of treatment, but could not bring herself to tell him so as it surely was not worthy of consideration on his part— and why would it be? There was only one thing he wanted, and she was worried to admit her inability to help him with it.

"I—! I was—!" She tried to explain, but he merely lifted a hand to stop her futile and inane justifications, a serious look in his eyes as he shook his head to show his lack of interest in the topic.

"Forget it. I thought you already knew of the dangers of Paris, since you've lived here for a while. Guess I was wrong about that. Just don't fall behind, okay?" Mason advised while a troubled expression emerged on his face. It was not that she did not know about the dangers of the city– she saw it on the news on a daily basis– but Corinne had merely avoided all these unsafe places and chosen to not go out too much at night, hence the reason why she did not know how to act while being in this area. And this was where the irony resided, specifically. "Be careful, and don't talk to anyone; don't even look at anyone." He grabbed her wrist and led her in silence again, the sensation of his solid grip on her fragile limb a patent warning to not do anything stupid as she tried to keep up with his quick pace when, out of the blue, a rather provocative-clad and mischievous woman hindered their advances.

"Hello there, _mon Cher_!" She greeted Mason with a cat-like smile, her bluish eyes filled with playfulness and affability. Her outfit was rather revealing and unsuitable for this weather, and Corinne wondered how was she even able to stand the frosty wind that episodically blew in the streets. "Cold night, don't you think? How would you like it to share some warmth? Your sweet _petit_ friend looks like she's freezing out here; I could warm her for you, too, if you want." She grinned at the younger woman, placing a cigarette on her red painted lips and then winked at him. "Two hundred francs the hour but it'll be only one for you, handsome. You'll enjoy it. I promise."

"Thanks, but no." He tersely declined her offering of a _ménage à trois_, while Corinne was blushing about ten shades of red. Never in her life had she ever had another woman insinuating such things to her– or even a man suggesting for the two of them to get down and dirty for that matter– whereas Alex gave the impression of being habituated to these kinds of customs. It would not be strange for a man of his age and caliber, though, but who was she to judge him? [2]

"If you change your mind…" The woman of the night courteously smiled and began to walk away, leaving a trail of saccharine perfume behind her whilst pacing in a sashaying manner, swinging her hips to the sound of her heels. Corinne, then, sighed in wordless relief, having being too nervous to even react and say something of her own as she remembered Alex's instructions to not speak a single word. There was nothing much she could say, with her growing shyness and insecurity before the woman's impressive outgoingness. It was true she had felt uncomfortable, but she had not reached the point of feeling revulsion towards the female that had walked away and now was speaking to another man who, unlike Mason, wasted no time in taking her with him.

This world truly was a place of misfortunes and unfairness, was it not? Maybe this unknown woman had a child to care for, and the only way she could provide for her kid was selling her body to be an instrument of pleasure to licentious strangers. She would not blame her for that; Corinne's Mother had once told her that she would do anything for her children, even if it meant she had to sell her soul to the Devil. And she believed her; Corinne believed it when her Mother said she would.

Alex, on the other hand, could give a damn as he watched every corner his eyes could reach, too on the alert to mind the chattering of this girl's teeth and bones and the way she closely stuck to him, like she wanted to feel his warmth— and she did, not out of lust but rather need. She was tired, she was cold, she was dead worried— she was thirsty. Oh, there was nothing she wanted more than to have some rest and a fair allotment of water, but this did not seem the right moment to be asking for such demands as they came to an abrupt stop at the gates of a rather dark and uncared-for building, whose frontage screamed pessimism and abandonment.

"Ah! _Monsieur_ Lenoir!" An almost conceited-sounding voice merrily greeted, but she paid little attention to it, caring very little about who this Lenoir man was as she had her own business to mind. This, however, changed when Mason approached a young and seemingly energetic bloke that appeared to be in his early twenties, if not less, standing at the main doors as if he were a doorkeeper to the unnamed and vulgar-looking place. Feeling perplexed, Corinne threw a questioning look to Alex's way, which he merely disregarded as he nodded to the younger man and waved fifty francs in between his fingers.

"I trust my room has not been taken tonight, right?" Mason, who turned out to be the one that had been called Lenoir, asked in a low but audible voice. "It would be a pity if I had to spend my money somewhere else, wouldn't it, Bernard?"

"As you requested, _Monsieur_, your room is waiting for you!" The youngster assured while taking what seemed to be his tip, dramatically bowing afterwards. "Are you planning on staying with this _Mademoiselle_?" Bernard asked with a smirk, evidently getting the wrong idea— and how could he not with the sight of Alex holding her by the wrist in such a territorial manner? Maybe the kid was thinking she was a prostitute; a rather peculiar one with that appearance of being stumped and an air that smelled of artlessness and lack of sophistication, not to mention her clear diffidence in the way she behaved, shielding herself behind the back of the older man, who seemed to be not quite enthusiastic with her company— and if he was, he was not showing. What a most strange taste in women this man had, Bernard thought while Mason glared at him, as if he were a psychic and knew what the boy's thoughts were.

"None of your business," was the green-eyed male's blunt reply while he dragged a silent, but embarrassed, Corinne inside a pretty bad-lit and alcohol-reeking corridor, the sound of faint laughter reaching their ears from the very moment they stepped their feet inside the mundane place.

"_Heh_. Have a good night, _Monsieur _Lenoir!" Bernard chirped before the two newcomers came in and he was left all alone to do his job. Dismissing the matter, the young man kissed his fifty francs paper money while thinking he would be able to buy something nice for his sister's birthday, which was approaching next week.

Or maybe he could buy a ticket to see her in the next world tonight.

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[1] Since Daniel Clarke's brother doesn't have an 'official' name, William will have to do.

[2] Ménage à trois, a French expression that stands for a sexual experience involving three people. Sorry for that.

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_Dr. Clarke's brother? Does this ring any bells to you, people? Just to clarify, I know that Mason received a message from 'X', which informed him of the man's whereabouts in Johannesburg. But where is the fun in looking for him? And then, how would the reader (as the reader-insert this story was intended to be) and Mason make the connection? _

_Keep in mind that this is an Alternative Universe, so a couple of things will change… but not too much. Also, I found strange that Mason was intending to 'hide' with, let's say, William, seeing as the CIA already knew the man was there (Mason had made a report of nature unknown and Hudson had advised him to not go to after Clarke), so my guess would be that Alex was not trying to go into hiding, exactly, but something else (a brilliant observation, I know)._

_On a side note, this story is taking me longer than I expected! At first I just thought I would write a few chapters to see where this was going and suddenly I found myself writing chapter six (yes, there are six of them but the following ones have to undergo some major revisions). And to be honest, Into the Fire was not going to be something big. It began as a one-shot one night of December and, after some time, it evolved into this. So a really big thanks to those who have reviewed on FF dot com and Lunaescence. You are my inspiration, and to you that are reading this: I write for you. _

_I am so sorry if I got Paris all wrong! I have never been there, so the only thing I could do was reading and investigating on the city beforehand. If any of the reader's French, or has been to France, and find this to be completely inaccurate, then I deeply apologize :(_


	4. La Vie en Rose

**A/N:**

_This chapter has a… bit of swearing; just saying!_

_There are references to some books… so, let's see if you can spot them! xD_

_Thanks for the lovely reviews. I really appreciate them, and they always make my day. Knowing that people are reading this and, what's more, enjoying the story makes me really happy. You really are an amazing motivation for me and I can't thank you enough._

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**Chapter IV**

**XI.**

Much to her utter surprise, there actually were people inside. Laughter filled the air of the lounge, the smell of smoke and alcohol making her feel truly dizzy as she struggled to be on her feet while Mason, rapid and quietly, led her to the set of stairs in a somewhat dark side of the room, not wanting those people to notice their arrival. The place was not, what could be said, the best but at least she was not freezing to death anymore, which was something. It was quite astounding that this year of 1978, the winter in France had been rather atypical with snowfalls during March and cold nights that should have ended by early February, to give rise to the more warm and humid days of spring. According to the press, the new and last wave of cold had distressed a vast area of Europe, causing a great incidence of snowstorms and noticeable low temperatures to be reported in several capitals of the continent but, likewise, it should only last until the end of the month. Frankly, she only hoped the sun would come out soon, as she had never been a fan of the cold weather to begin with. [1]

Corinne observed small groups of people gathered at the several tables distributed in the place, drinking, playing cards, and smoking like they were smokestacks of the factories in the industrialized zones of the outskirts. Alcohol seemed to be the rule of this no-frills tavern, the dark-haired woman mused before the obnoxious cackle of one of the men playing poker startled her, her eyes rapidly darting to see a young man collecting his poker chips with a satisfied air to him. She also noticed the undeniable attractive women attending the customers, serving drinks and flirting with the men from time to time as they were tipped for their pleasing services.

Houses that offered illegal gambling were not strange in a city like Paris, it was true, but she had never been at such a setting like this before and, as expected, this had left her a little at sea since she did not know what they were doing there— well, she knew she had to follow Alex but what kinds of affairs could he have around here? Would this be his hideaway or were they just paying a quick visit? Corinne could only guess, as she scanned the depressing space fitted with decrepit furniture, telling herself that if they were to stay for the night, at least, she would have a roof over her head.

"Stay here. I'll be right back." Alex's deep and collected voice interrupted her thoughts and her brownish eyes quickly were fixed on his face, getting a glimpse of his strong features in the dimness that surrounded them with its yellowish shades. He looked a little tired as he glanced at her face with excessive attention, as though there was an impossible debate inside his head. "Don't draw attention to yourself, and stay in the shadows." Those were his words before he turned his back to her and walked away, apparently intent on speaking with the old barman that stood behind the counter, impassively wiping a glass before pouring some whisky in it. The young woman was left there, feeling much like a child whose father had told her to wait as he made his own business. She knew it was ridiculous to feel this way but, truly, he looked old enough to be her old man. _Hell_, anyone could confuse him as such if not for the fact they looked nothing alike and, more importantly: no man in his right mind would take his daughter to a place like this. At least, that was what she believed.

Mason had not finished taking his fourth step when a fair-haired woman eagerly halted him in his tracks and, with a smile, put her hand on his dark-clothed chest. She batted her eyelashes to him while she leaned to his ear, whispering something Corinne could not quite catch from where she stood but, from the looks of it, she knew it had nothing to do with alcohol and cigarettes, or gambling, since the blonde was looking at him with hungry and burning eyes, waiting for his answer— waiting for him to give in to her this time. However, as though the dark-haired female could see this in her mind, he furrowed his dark eyebrows while shaking his head in absolute refusal. With a quick wave, he brushed her hand away and continued his way, leaving a dejected and astonished female behind, and the other with her mouth agape. Corinne could not believe it! This guy had been hit on twice tonight and twice had he turned those women's offers down without a second thought and, somehow, it felt strange for her. Having grown with her Mother's advice concerning the sometimes more-than-improper behavior of males and how to not fall for their hoaxes, Corinne had always thought there had been only one thing fixed on their minds. But, be that as it may, she believed she could understand his lack of interest in these life-threatening circumstances. If she were targeted for execution, as he seemed to have been, she would have no head, or the time, for getting laid.

Not that she would have any wish to do it, of course.

"You cheated, son of a bitch!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Give my money back!"

"Like hell I will!"

"Asshole!"

As she heard the colorful language, Corinne tried to cover herself in the shadows of a corner, not wanting to stay any close to the group of men that were now holding a heated argument, as she already could imagine how things would turn out from then onward. She was praying she would get out of there before the dispute got any uglier, or worse: turned into a dogfight of which she could not escape, but it was all in vain as she heard glass breaking and the words of anger that were spat back and forth. At that moment, she wanted to crawl somewhere and hide, but where could she? Her eyes nervously looked at the counter, from where Alex was observing the quarrel unfold, the barman nowhere to be seen. Catching a brief glimpse of his new companion, he nodded and signaled for her to stay put and she could do nothing but nod back, as she tried to ignore the tension that was growing tighter inside her stomach and the feeble tremble in her legs. Oh, she wished she would not be a wimp, but what could she do before such displays of violence? The word alone sounded so foreign to her, as she did not even know what a slap in the face felt like, so would it not be natural for her to feel scared? Would it not be right to search for his green eyes again and again, hoping he would get her out of there?

But, to her despair, Alex did not move; he was not moving from his spot– probably never would– and Corinne was beginning to think she would have to run before getting caught in between.

"Get out of here, Claude. _Now_! I have been far too lenient on your tricky ways, but not anymore! You know the rules. We don't like cheaters here, so you'd better hit the road and never show your face again. And _don't_ even think about leaving with the money!"

Claude, the brown-eyed young male whose raucous laughter had made her wince before, had a look of disbelief as a barely consumed cigarette dangerously hung from his lips. The brunette woman followed his line of gaze, curious as to whom did the foreign voice belonged to, only to catch sight of the bartender standing a few feet away, with a snarl on his thin lips, as he supported himself on what she guessed was his walking stick— she could not tell, given that the light was so poor from where he stood.

"You can't do that. You can't! I-I'll let the police know of this place, you know? And you'll regret it! You will!" The young man pointed an accusative finger to the white-haired man's way.

"And what do you think _they're_ gonna do about it, huh? _Nothing_! It's _you _the one who's gonna regret it when my boss is after your ass and, believe me, you won't like that." The older male threatened with a displeased expression on his wrinkled and flinty face. "Do yourself a favor and leave. I have shit to do here."

"Go to hell, Franc! You're no one to tell me what to—!" Claude's voice and condescension died unexpectedly as a wave of gasps, followed by the slam of wooden chairs falling backwards, made her blood run cold and her heart stop for what seemed like an eternity. People were backing off from him, and her instinct had been doing the same; the only problem was that she had long run out of floor and her back was digging a hole in the wall.

"I won't repeat myself a third time." Franc was pointing the menacing muzzle of a shotgun to Claude's face and the young man froze in place, his face turning an awful pallid shade as if he had seen a ghost, or worst: as if he were one himself— something that probably would not take long to happen if he did not departed soon. Corinne's face went a pasty color, too, as she tried to suppress a scream that wanted to emerge from the pit of her soul by putting her hands over her mouth. _Please, no more deaths_, she pleaded while fighting off tears of dread. "Get lost."

Claude ran off to the main door, tripping several times on the way, and the place was silent for a while. Franc simply looked around, a glare still in his eyes, and nodded to the people before walking to the counter and resuming his conversation with '_Mr. Lenoir'_. He surely was not a man to fool around with, she decided while making a mental note to stay as far as possible from him— or everyone. She had to keep her nose clean, and try not to draw unnecessary attention, as Mason had advised a while ago. If she did as she was told, there would be nothing she needed to worry about, right? All she had to do was stay there, like a good little girl, and make everyone believe she did not exist to the world. How difficult could it be?

Her eyes frantically looked around, once more, and her heart now was painfully throbbing in her chest as though she was expecting the worst to happen at any time. But, to her luck, things slowly started to settle down and, in time, they got back to normal as the beautiful lyrics of La Vie en Rose drifted in the air, softly and lovely, as if they meant to make everyone forget about the recent and unpleasant incident that had come about. [2]

Heaving a weary sigh from her drained lungs, Corinne placed a hand on her now perspired forehead, closed her eyes for a second and mentally counted to ten to catch her breath, not caring about the toxic mix of alcohol and tobacco she was taking in at the moment—she needed a couple good mouthfuls of air, and she needed them desperately. She feebly coughed as her eyes began to sting with tears once more, due to the acrid stench, feeling utterly relieved for not having to witness another snuff in the same day. She did not think she could take any more of this, in all honesty, and there was only so much her mind could withstand, after all. If only she could grow wings and flee to a faraway place— if only! But, sadly, this was no fantastic story and magic did not exist in this modern world. She wished it would, though, so all her problems would be solved with the simple wave of a fairy godmother's wand and her magic dust— oh, the idea alone sounded so retarded it made Corinne feel like an idiot beyond belief!

She glanced to Mason's direction again and saw him slid an envelope to Franc, who proceeded to check its contents before nodding his agreement. Turning his back to the American for a moment, the white-haired man retrieved some kind of grayish bag from one of the drinks cabinets and, then, handed it to the brunette before carrying on their endless talk. _How much longer will they take to settle their business_, the woman wondered while crossing her arms and biting her inner cheek, eyes full of concern and apprehension by being there almost on her own. Her hands were aching again, but she tried to ignore the painful throb the small shards of glass were causing in her flesh, and drew them close to her chest in attempts to stop her profound need of scratching at the bleeding palms that, until then, had been begging for first aid attention. If only Mason would move things along a bit faster. What could they possibly be—?

_Thud. _

Out of nowhere, Corinne felt something hard bump into her as a knowing chuckle that she failed to hear, due to her initial confusion, rumbled next to her ear. The strength behind the impact caused her to stumble a little but, even so, she was able to keep her balance and not end up on the floor. And once she had come to her senses, she was able to feel the arm that was shamelessly sneaking around her waist and the quiet giggle that made her gasp in both alarm and discomfort. Startled and confused, the female turned her head to look behind her shoulder and came face to face with a strange and bald man who was holding her like she was his toy.

_Oh, not again_.

"Hello, _ma petit_." The man reeked of alcohol and she had to look away so as to not breathe into the pungent smell he carried in his body and clothes, suppressing a dry cough as she did. He barely could stand on his feet, mainly supporting himself on her weak frame, and his voice sounded slurred as if he had been drinking a little too much, which was really evident in his behavior. "You alone?"

Corinne decided to keep her mouth shut and, instead, had a quick look to the counter's way only to discover, to her utter horror, that Mason was not there anymore. Where did he go? She started to feel worried as she tried to get out of this drunk's grasp, wondering if she had been left on her own this time. Perhaps he had finally realized she was not worth the trouble and had departed without saying a word. Could it be that he had seen she truly was a weakling and would ruin his plans, whatever they were? What if everything he had said was completely a lie? What if this man was not who he claimed he was and his intentions had been far from being honest? Too many conjectures that had her unsure and lost and, still, Corinne was too scared to consider those possibilities, choosing on keep believing in him as she struggled to free herself from those arms that kept her imprisoned, suffocating her with their surprising strength.

"I-I'm waiting for someone." She managed to utter in a small– more like breathless– voice, hoping Mason would make his heroic appearance and lend her a hand, which she was beginning to need really bad. Still squirming, Corinne tried once more to get him to release her but without success, much to her panic and mild annoyance. Once more, she cursed the moment she watched out of the window of her bedroom and thought it would be nice a day to buy a new book. If only she would have paid attention to what her horoscope on the newspaper had warned her that morning: _beware of the strangers!_ _Beware! _Though, seriously, would not such a natural caution before the unknown be expected? Moreover, what kind of _sensible_ woman would not be wary of a man who walked up to her and engaged in casual talking out of the blue? It seemed prudence was not a quality fitting of her character, now that she thought about it.

And welcome to Paris.

"He can go rot, then." The stranger smiled a somewhat retarded smile, nuzzling her neck, and she gritted her teeth in impotence, a little despaired by the situation, while she demanded to be left alone. She was not counting on Mason anymore as he, apparently, had evaporated leaving her to her own devices so, perhaps, biting this guy's hand when she had the chance would do the trick— of course, if she ignored the fact that he would be fuming at her, afterwards. But Corinne could only try and pray for this to work.

"Hey, dumb-ass."

Her hazel eyes widened in surprise same as her mouth, whose teeth had been ready to attack at any given time— an uncivilized act that sort of made her feel like a savage woman. Well, honestly, she did not care about appearances at this point; she could be a savage female in a savage world, for all she cared, as long as she could survive its savagery, masked with the façade of a decadent civilization that had been misunderstood as a part of human nature. If fear was driving her to act in this aggressive manner, then it was true that within every human resided a beast.

But there he was, Alex Mason, or _Monsieur _Lenoir, like a symbol of authority and strength, standing before her, a grayish bag slung to one of his broad shoulders as he shot her a glare that almost made her recoil in fright and alarm. If looks could kill, she would have been six feet underground in that moment; she was pretty sure of it as the scowl on his face still lingered, unalterable. For a few seconds nothing happened, and Corinne was biting her lips thinking of an excuse to tell him, for she thought he was mad at her for getting in trouble so fast. More than an excuse, she was gathering the nerve to reproach him the fact he had left her vulnerable in a corner of this brothel, run-of-the-mill tavern, or whatever it was, while he was off to do his business with the old man. What was he thinking, in all honesty?

But, despite how upset she might have felt, she could not help but sigh in relief since he had been on time to get her out of this predicament— yet again. Maybe she could try and be less ungrateful this time, she pondered while preparing herself to hear the avalanche of reprimands he was about to spit. She might have not known him that well, also, but if there was something she could deduce was that Mason was not a man to lark about with, either. If her memory served right, she clearly recalled he had killed those men without any remorse, and even ruthlessly stabbed one in the throat— an awful image that still remained in her head and, probably, would not let her sleep for a week. Honestly, if that was not enough reason to lower her gaze and remember she was in no position to be complaining, then she surely had to be off her rocker or suicidal.

She dared to look him in the eye, albeit a little scared of his intimidating demeanor that made her think twice before her stupid mouth said something she might regret later. Although she was not the type of woman that had a loose tongue, she decided it was better off to keep it in check this time, lest she wanted to be in bad terms with Mr. Mason... or Lenoir. In this state of mind, she sighed in defeat while allowing her shoulders to slump and, finding the nerve to meet his green eyes again she discovered he was not actually glowering at her but at the male standing behind her, whom she had virtually forgotten about!

"She's with me. Go find yours." Alex stated, quite displeased, while he snatched her from the drunken molester, making her ridiculously stumble in the process. Corinne did not want to ask what did he meant by '_go find yours'_ since she was pretty sure she understood what he was talking about. In other circumstances, the young woman would have protested at the blatant manner he had objectified her but she figured they should keep up appearances so long as they stayed in this place— which she hoped would not be for very long.

The guy let go of her without a single objection. Evidently, he felt intimated by Alex's presence since he lifted his hands in surrender and wisely chose to retreat from this Alpha male before her, leaving the brown-eyed female to wonder just what in Jesus' name had just happened. However, Mason merely dismissed the matter with a shake of his head, which she did not know if it was out of disappointment or exasperation, threw a glance her way and nodded the set of dark stairs as an almost dull-colored _c'mon_ passed his lips_._ With a gentle push from his hand, she found herself leading the way in a dim and depressing hallway with stained walls, with no idea of where to go apart from the spontaneous indications he gave her every now and then. The walk to their destination was silent for the most part of it and, somewhat, hurried as he frequently nudged her to pick up her pace while the only thing she could do was comply every time he did.

"You need to leave your name behind, do you understand? It's not safe for you anymore." He stated in a firm whisper before he brought her to a stop in front of a door, which Corinne had rapidly guessed to be his room as she examined the faded _25_ on the reddish wood painted, just a little above its peephole. With a faint nod, she murmured her understanding while pondering about how was it that her life had gone to hell in just a few hours time— not that there was much of it, to begin with. The only thing that truly was starting to concern her a big deal was her family's safety, and the chance she might not see them anymore since tomorrow could be a good day to die. The youngster had never conceived she would be having these thoughts at her age but, in this situation, it was bound to happen and, for all that she knew, this could be her last night before she met her maker. The psychic stress it forced upon her was difficult to stomach, and she sensed an acidic fluid burning her throat as Alex produced a key from one of the pockets of his coffee-colored cargo pants. Placing her hand over her mouth, Corinne dearly tried to swallow her sharp-tasting fright, feeling his solid body forcefully pressing against hers whilst he shoved her into a dark void, with him following suit.

_A little too much for pretense_, she fleetingly thought as the lock of the door echoed, with a rather disturbing click, in the haze of a black mist that fogged her eyes, letting her know that now there was no way out— that he would not let her find a way out.

And she wondered where the phial, containing the little fragment of light from Eärendil's star, was when she needed it the most.

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[1] I know the winter in France was not like this in 1978, but bear in mind that I had written this meeting way long before I decided the nationality of the character or that this even took place in Paris.

[2] _La Vie en Rose_. Life in Rosy Hues, it's a classic of the 1940s by Edith Piaf. You should listen to it, it's a beautiful song!

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_Sorry if it was a little too short. I just wanted to make a quick update before I got any busier with homework, and I also wanted to let people know that I'm still working on this story. _

_Reviews are appreciated, regardless of your thoughts— yesterday my teacher said something about ideas being bulletproof. I know this is going rather slow and not much has happened but… this was meant to be some sort of cheesy romance with some kind of plot thrown to the mix._

_The next chapter should be interesting, though. _


	5. Nothing to Lose

**A/N:**

_Hello, I'm back with another chapter._

_My apologies for taking so long but life has been getting in the way, lately. In all honesty, I hate my life right now and I miss the good ol' days when I was a kid :( but not the point._

_Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, you equally wonderful people. Your support really means a lot to me and I'm eternally grateful to you __**BlackBird**_**, **_**LadySewaddle**_**, **_**CaptainMason **__(who, I think, is __**Random Reviewer **__xD), and __**Guest.**_

_**Guest:**__ In answer to your question, Mason is forty-five years old. Well, forty-four if you take into account that he was born in June the 3rd of 1933 and the story takes place in March of 1978. Concerning my other Mason fic, I deleted it from this site because I considered it had no place here, and the writing was not very good. However, if you still want to read it, you can do it in Lunaescence. The title is the same, In Your Eyes, and it has four chapters so far. It's a cheesy romance, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. And thanks for the compliment, but I'm not a pro xD Stephen King IS a pro, hehe. But I appreciate that you think of me like that :) it boosts my ego :P _

_And don't lose hope! I'm sure you can write that Mason fic! :D share your love for Mason with the world!_

_**BlackBird**__: Thank you for continued support. I think you're one of the main reasons I keep writing this story. So, as you requested, here's another chapter which I hope you enjoy :)_

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**Chapter V**

**XII.**

'_What should I do?'_

The question lingered in her mind as she felt his leather-clad hand, large and strong, taking a hold of her frail shoulder, in the tight darkness that engulfed her and made her feel so little and insignificant, smoothly pushing her out of the way and next to the wall. Her bearings had been lost to her the second she had stepped in the room, or more like been shoved by him in a rather inelegant way, and her sight weakly flashed with colors of all kinds as her pupils attempted to adjust to the shady lair she had been brought to. Corinne knew it would be futile to try and grope her way around a place unknown to her, so the brunette young woman decided it would be best if she kept still by his side as he hushed her in that characteristically low and quiet tone of his.

His breathing was warm against her face as she let her body smash against the chilly wall adjacent to the door, feeling a sudden tiredness in her muscles that had her legs quivering and threatening to give in. As Corinne struggled to keep a retching from escaping her mouth, when a new wave of nausea hit her, she turned her face to the other side while biting her lips and, bitterly, gulped once more. The whole situation was unnerving, to say the least, and the uncertainty of the moment was really painful and difficult to bear. _What should I do? What should I do?_ She kept asking to herself while holding her stomach, as though this would help to stop the restless stirring of its meager contents, before her hazel gaze returned to the largely shaped figure beside her, body faintly trembling despite her futile efforts to relax. Her mouth had been left with a bitter taste by the sour fluids that had threatened to be spilled on the floor, and her entrails were still churning with the ever present apprehension that the fact of being with this man engendered in them. _Breathe deep, breathe long, and then breathe a little more_, she thought trying to pull herself together. And breathe she did.

Seconds seemed to last several lifetimes while the sounds of his steady inhalations, and the whispers of leather against wood, hummed next to her ear as the click of the door echoed in the room, and the grim jingle of the keys died in the depths of his pockets. By now, her eyes were better adjusted to the blackness that surrounded them, and she was able to see more of Alex's sturdy outline, noticing that he was really close to the door, drawing his eye near to the peephole whilst he tried to see through it and to the hallway. Not knowing what to do, Corinne stood there for a while, unmoving, silent, and cold, watching as he pulled away from the small opening and, apparently, fixed his green eyes on her. For a moment the female held his gaze and he held hers, like they were trying to figure out what the other was thinking or, moreover, like they were even able to see anything apart from contours and imagined expressions of dread and concern on their faces.

Corinne heard him give a nearly impatient sigh, while he turned his back to her quivering form and tossed his backpack in a dark corner she cared not to see, not that she was able to, either way, before making his way to the window. Mason lingered there for a while, staring out at the street beneath and at those who were not as fortunate as they were to have a place to stay in for the night.

"Are you gonna stand there all night?" She jumped at the sound of his voice but, thankfully, he did not seem to notice this as he paced to the head of the bed and turned the bedside lamp on, its yellowish dim light revealing every corner of the small place– smaller than her apartment was– as she took in every of its details, with obvious dismay. For starters, there was only one bed and she did not dare ask who was sleeping in it that night. It would be okay if he wanted to take it, so long as they did not share. If she were to sleep on the floor, then she would deal with it, but Corinne wished she had her coat to keep her warm, at the very least. "It's not a five stars accommodation, I know, but we'll be safe here tonight." He extended one of his hands and gestured for her to take a seat on the bed. Nervously fiddling with her fingers, she did as she was told and sat down on the thin worn mattress, her back to him as she lowered her gaze to her hands, staring at the dried patches of blood on them while he carried on his talk. "At this moment, we're being chased all over Paris and I'm not talking about the Police. Trust me; they're the least of our worries right now." She heard rustle behind her and the sound of a zipper being, she assumed, pulled down. "All I ask from you is your cooperation, Miss Lafleur. Collaborating; do you think you can do that?"

Corinne wanted to shake her head in denial and tell him the truth. However, it looked as if her body was not her own anymore when she feebly nodded while feeling that she only was delaying the inevitable.

Mason, then, began to tell her that she could not go back to her place under any circumstances, for _they_ would be investigating her apartment by then, to which she answered that they would only find a bunch of kid's homework yet to be marked, as well as a lot of teaching and reading material— that was all they would get to see. She had also mentioned the fact that she had left her ID behind in the café, and that only served as a substantial reason for him to keep her from returning to her abode. He knew the place would be on constant surveillance, day and night, and she would be damned if she returned. Corinne understood this, however, and had no wish to go back at all; she really had to be stupid to do something as unreasonable as that but, then again, her decisions had not been really judicious so far, as far as she was concerned.

"Do you actually sleep here?" She, again, attempted to make some conversation, turning in time to see him giving her a strange look, eyebrow arched as he produced from the grayish backpack, which had turned out to be on a wooden table in the corner, what appeared to be instruments for medical surgery. Different kinds of tools, all of them intended for different uses, were placed in a silver surgical tray, hard metal clattering against cold metal, and her light-brown eyes widened in fear while the smell of ethylic alcohol reached her nostrils, thinking that maybe he was reminding her what he could do to her if she was not as 'collaborative' as he expected her to be.

"Does it look to you as if I can have the pleasure of forty-winks while the Associate Deputy Director of the SAD is tracking my every move?" At some point, he had taken his black leather jacket off and washed his hands in the contiguous small room that served as a private bathroom, and, now, was sitting by her side, boring those sea green eyes into her while she dearly tried to not tremble under the way they studied her, as they took in her quiet trembling and shallow breathing while his bigger hand caught hold of hers, firm and securely. Corinne's gaze travelled slowly to the utensils, seemingly conceived for torture rather than medical treatment— she had always believed this ever since she was a little girl. Hospitals and anything related to them had always made her feel uneasy, she could not exactly tell why. Perhaps due to the fact that her loving Father had died in one of them, and the aseptic smell of cleanliness always brought her back to that day when she lost him. Maybe because she had always been fearful of the pain, and the metallic sight felt inhuman and insensitive to her, same as the white walls and bright lights that blinded anyone's sight.

"The SAD?" She managed to choke the words out of her throat, after a long minute of silence, feeling confused as the sensation of chilly wetness invaded her, suddenly.

"The Special Activities Division in the Directorate of Operations." Mason had begun to clean the blood from her cuts by sinking one of her hands in a small silver vessel that contained some kind of antiseptic liquid diluted in water that he had prepared. When the sanitized and clean-smelling fluid touched the tender area of her flesh it throbbed and burned like hell, a stinging fever penetrating her red tissue in a boiling ache that had her hissing through gritted teeth, eyes watering a little as he gave her an apologetic look. Biting her lips, Corinne tried to endure the slight pain while feeling the little flakes of glass bury in deeper, though maybe this was only a trick of her mind. "Easy there. I know it's not pleasant, at all, but it's the only way."

_Rustle_.

"I— I d-didn't know there was such a thing in existence." She quietly mumbled as she watched him inspect and dry her palm with a piece of gauze, cleaning it for the treatment that would follow. Well, of course she would not have knowledge of it whatsoever. The access to that type of information was off her limits and there was only so much a simple citizen like her could be familiar with nowadays, in the midst of a reawakening of the Cold War tensions, or supposed Second Cold War, between powers in the Eastern and Western blocs. "I take it that those special activities involve the so-called covert operations, am I correct?"

"Covert _and _clandestine operations of two kinds, paramilitary and political action." He corrected and Corinne furrowed her thin eyebrows, trying to figure what he could possibly mean by that. She had never thought there would be a difference between _covert_ and _clandestine _before— if anything, they implied the same thing, at least from what she had learnt. However, there was actually a substantial and significant divergence between those two terminologies, according to a definition used by the United States and NATO since World War Two, he explained. Whereas covert operations consisted in procedures that should be kept undetected while in progress, and their outcome could be easily observed once it was done, clandestine operations should be undetected while and after their completion, no matter what.

"Well, you don't look like the type of man who would be behind a desk for longer than to get the necessary paperwork done." She tried to joke, hoping he would have some sense of humor, feeling a little relieved when his lips let out a half-chuckle while his fingers twiddled with a pair of tweezers that had her gulping in mild-distress.

"No, I'm not."

.

.

.

_Clank._

"_Ow_! That hurts!" She moaned in pain, and he only rolled his eyes at seeing her biting her lips to stop another groan from reverberating in the dirty and derelict-like room that served as his temporal refuge. "Be careful, please!"

_Hiss_

The lingering tang smell of ashes and abandonment of long years had flooded her nostrils intensely, and it had not been until he had turned the weak light on that she was able to take a good look at her surroundings. The almost vacant apartment was in a state she could only explain as neglected and ruined but, at least, it was better than freezing to death on the streets, she decided. The woman had also noticed the walls of the rooms were slightly burnt and parts of them had cracked or were threatening to fall down, and the sparse furniture in the place had done little to add some sense of comfort. In all honesty, she only hoped they would be getting out of there soon.

_Rustle._

"Well, if you were still, maybe, it'd be easier for me." His voice was raspy and irked as her hand uncontrollably squirmed in his, trying to break free from his firm grasp. "Oh, cut me some slack!"

Despite the cold wind gushing in from the cracks of the windows that made a poor work at keeping them protected, her body had started to sweat as reality crashed down onto her with all its force; she was a fugitive, a runaway like the man before her. Oh, what was she going to do now? She asked herself for the umpteenth time and, yet again, regretted the stupid decisions she had made that day. But if it was true that she would be murdered, like Mason had predicted, in that case there was nothing else she could do asides from trusting that he could get her out of this mess. A mess he had dragged her into, nonetheless.

Another whine passed her lips and he sighed out of aggravation.

"Be quiet. It's not that bad. You're acting like a baby." His face was straight as he tried to keep one of her hands still with his much bigger one, seeking to extract the foreign objects that were giving her a hard time. "I could describe you worse ways of getting wounded and even worse methods of medical treatment in the wild. Just be thankful that mere shards of glass, and _not_ bullets, are what I'm drawing out of your flesh. If that were the case, I can assure that you'd have a very good reason to scream and kick like there was no tomorrow."

Corinne was too busy biting on her tongue now to even counter his slur. She did not care what he was thinking about her as she sat on the, strangely, nice iron bed, being nursed by him. The brunette male might be right, after all. She was a coward and had no resistance to pain and stress— but then again, she had never had the need for it! Why would she need to endure physical pain in any case? Her caring upbringing had accustomed her to a life of affection and kindhearted treatments on her family behalf. Who could blame her if her stomach was violently churning, now, and all that she wanted was getting some comfort? If he thought she was a crybaby, it surely was not her fault!

"Why does your country want you dead— _ow_!" She pressed with a hiss as he none-too-gently drew out one of the shards buried in her flesh with the pair of metallic tweezers, straining to see it, while she curled her toes inside her chamois boots. "There must be a good— _argh_! — reason if they want you gone. _Ouch_!"

"Would you care to speak lower?" Alex reprimanded with a quiet grimace as his green eyes hardened and turned an intense and clear shade of jade. One never knew who might eavesdrop, and he was not about to take any chances. "Because they've labeled me as a threat to their National Security, that's why." He replied, tersely and indifferently, and she narrowed her eyes at his curt answer. Frankly, Corinne had hoped to get more than that when she asked, but he seemed intent on the tending of her cut hands and did not even bother to glance at her for one second after that.

"_Why_?" She kept on pressing, but he remained silent and she felt the metal painfully squeeze her skin again, a thin trail of red warmth trickling through her fingers once more. "Why are you a threat to them— _Ow_! Why are you doing that?"

"What d'you mean?" His voice was almost monotonous, as if he had no idea of what she was talking about and Corinne refrained from pondering if it was mere accident, or his sly and rude way to get her to shut up and to not ask was could possibly be harmful to her. But what else could she lose, at this point? Did she not have the right to know as her world began to crumple under a force impossible to fight off?

"Why a threat?" Corinne insisted, albeit uncertain and weakly, before giving a silent groan when he removed another fragment from her raw hands and, this time, the young woman felt her patient running out at the blatant manner he was ignoring her. "You promised you would tell me everything, so I want to know _what's_ going on!"

_Clank. _

"What is it that you teach your kids at school?" His question disconcerted her for a moment, and she could not help but regard him with a blank stare before he decided to repeat it, a little irritated, making her narrow her eyes at him in clear aggravation. This was unbelievable! Not only this man insulted her intelligence, but he played her for a fool. Would he ever stop beating around the bushes and get straight to the point for once?

"What does it have to do with anything?!"

"I've been taught to obey without question; to take pride in the American I am; to be an instrument of powerful people I don't know. I've been taught that there's no greater honor than that of answering the Call of Duty and dying for your country. I've been told that I'm part of the few, and the proud, the brave, and they've beaten it into my head until I ended up believing it. But what they haven't taught me is that a lie is a lie, and just because they write it down and call it History, that doesn't make it the truth." Mason whispered, seemingly more to himself than for her to hear, before looking at her in the eye, making her tilted her head in confusion at his sudden statement. However, she kept listening as he threw the tool in a surgical tray which held the small bloodied flakes that had caused discomfort, the sharp clank of metal reaching her ears and almost making her squeak. "We live in a world where seeing is not believing; where only a few know what really happened."

"What are you talking about?" His greenish eyes seemed to be scrutinizing her, to be looking through her very soul… and Corinne shivered in anticipation, completely forgetting the fact that her bloodied hands stung from the slight rough handling they had received.

"We live in a world where everything you know is wrong. I was there, many years ago… I gave my life to serve my country, I gave my youth, my very soul; I gave up what was really important to me. I gave it all to fight for what I thought was worth fighting for— for what I thought was the right thing! I crawled through dirt and blood to achieve their personal victories, for their pictures to hang in those damned halls of Glory and Fame!" She saw him grit his teeth, his breathing getting heavier as if an unexpected fit of rage had struck him all of a sudden. "I went through a living hell to keep my mouth shut so as to no slip a fucking word to the enemy, and to protect my Nation, and when they had not need for me anymore I was considered "burnt", a threat to be terminated, a loose end to be tied. This… this is how they paid me off. To their eyes, I've already been tainted by the Commies." He grabbed his head, his face contorting in what seemed to be pain, grunting under his breath as he did so. "Getting caught… that's what I did wrong… that is what they blame me for. _The Wolf_ was right. He was right, after all."

She did not know what to do; she did not know how to comfort him in his suffering for his sudden confession had taken her aback. Alex looked so devastated, confused and lost while he bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees, grabbing his hair and pulling at it as he muttered and brooded about a past she was foreign to. The young teacher felt the urge to say something to reassure him, to relieve the torment that was consuming him from the inside, even if she did not know the whole story, but what exactly would you say to a man with the weight of disillusions and lies over his shoulders— a burden so immense that the soft color of his eyes faded into a murky shade at recalling things that he wanted to forget.

From what she understood of his puzzling words, he had been held captive in a prison in the Soviet Union, perhaps as a result of a mission that went awry. Either way, his time there seemed to have affected him a great deal and she could only begin to imagine what kinds of horrors were perpetrated inside those fortified constructions of iron and death. According to some testimonies, people knew suffering beyond their darkest fears and the lone idea that this man could be a survivor of Stalin's terror machine made her tremble from head to toe. It was the mild coldness in his eyes that gave it all away; the loneliness that they hinted; the way they looked at the world that was around him as if it were a ghost, as if it were something that was not real.

"Are you alright?" She knew the question was stupid, for it was evident he was not okay, but she did not know what else could be said. 'I am sorry?' 'That must have been a pretty hard experience?'A pat in the shoulder and the classic 'everything will be fine'? Honestly, she did not think that would work, but what was she supposed to do in a situation like this? She was no psychologist, no therapist; she was not prepared to deal with a man like him, though now she wished she was.

"I am fine; just a headache." He lugged a heavy sigh and stared off in the distance as her face held a saddened expression, which she awkwardly tried to conceal by diverting her eyes to her feet. Corinne did not want him to know that sympathy for him was beginning to build inside her heart; she did not want him to know that she felt bad; she did not want him to know that he could manipulate her to his will. She had always been susceptible, easy to be persuaded, even by her little pupils that knew how to get on her good side, and by her little siblings who always knew how to get her to say yes to whatever their childish demand was. Her Mother used to tell her that if Corinne were to have children someday, she would surely spoil them beyond belief and her advice was for her daughter to marry a man who possessed a firm but caring character to mark limits. However, the young brunette did not believe such a thing was happening any time soon, if not ever. But her procreative future was the last thing she was thinking about, as the older man stood up and disappeared in the bathroom to discard the red-stained materials he had used on her. Not long after that, she heard the muffled sound of the water running, splashing against his calloused hands that had been blotted with speckles of her blood.

Checking her hands, yet again, she noticed the pain was not unbearable as before as she traced her fingers in her lesions, examining the irregular and red slashes that were all over her small palms, nails scratching the delicate surface as if to test its levels of sensitivity. Her fingers twitched a little, and she let out a tiny sough as her brain screamed 'don't touch!' in her head. Apparently, it would take some time before she was able to do something useful with them.

"Put some of this after you wash your hands." His voice shook her, somehow, and she jumped a good few inches off the bed while wondering how he even managed to sneak in the bedroom like that. With wide eyes, she saw him approach and offer her— or more like tossed to her lap— a tube of antiseptic cream, before walking away and grabbing his leather jacket from the back of the chair. "I'll patch you up later. And your face… is fine. I don't think it'll scar; just a minor scrape, nothing to worry about." He paused to put the clothing on, and she took this opportunity to sit straight and compose herself. "You can sleep a bit, if you wish. I know the bed doesn't look like the most comfortable one, but some rest will do you good. It's unlikely they'll find us here, or so I hope, but still I'll be keeping an eye outside. If something happens, be prepared."

"Okay!" Corinne nodded before biting her lips in hesitation. But how hard could it be saying those words? Not as hard as she had thought, without a doubt. "And… thank you." She breathed and, this time, he was the one giving her a blank stare as if he had not been expecting such a thing from her. Her now clean hands unconsciously touched her face, trying to feel the scratches on her cheeks, as she looked up at him with eyes that clearly showed something akin to gratitude, and Mason merely grunted in response, thinking that she really was naïve for a woman of her age. Why should she be thanking him for such a trivial gesture when he had brought Hell to her door? He certainly did not understand but, then again, that was not important. The only thing that truly mattered was to accomplish this last request to stop the next apocalypse of the world from materializing as the rotten decadence of those who ruled from the shadows— who had buried all that he was, what he had done, under their lies, deceit and corruption.

For, now, he had nothing to lose.

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_Reviews are appreciated, and also flames. So do not hesitate to hit the 'Post Review' button! ; A ;_


	6. Memory's Murder

**A/N:**

_I'm back with another chapter! Sorry it has taken me so long :( there is no excuse this time other than the fact I've been feeling lazy as of late— lazier than usual, at least. Lacking the motivation to do most of my activities, I couldn't sit and type this chapter until a few days ago. Anyways, that's not important! :D_

_There's another reason for this! I am pretty sure you Mason's fans know what day is today, right? :D any guesses, hm?_

_But of course! Today is Alex Mason's birthday! Our beloved Black Ops hero was born on June, the 3rd of 1933 so, happy birthday to him! ; A ; I was waiting for this day to update! Honestly, I didn't think I would make it but, fortunately, I finished the chapter last night._

_**Guest:** Thank you very much for your support. I sincerely hope you've enjoyed the other Mason fic! ; A ; and thanks for the compliments, too! Hehe, aw yeah! Honestly, I think Sam was the perfect choice to voice Alex Mason. His voice is so deep and sexy, and it totally fits the character! I once told a friend of mine that if they were to change Mason's voice I would be truly upset :( it would not be the same. Again, thank you very much for your support :3 it's nice to know that there are people reading this fic._

**_BlackBird: _**_thank you very much for your encouraging words! I am so happy that you think this story is worthy of your time! Yes, you guessed right :D this story is set in the time Mason was subject to termination. I've always wondered what happened to him during that time, so this is outcome of those thoughts! Well, just wait and read xD I don't want to spoil it for you._

_So, I hope you enjoy and if you left feedback, I would really appreciate it :3_

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**Chapter VI**

**XIII.**

"I'll be back in forty-five. Turn the lights off and, if someone knocks on the door, don't answer." Alex's voice had rumbled in a whisper and Corinne nodded before he opened the door and disappeared without as much as a goodbye. Once he was out of sight she heard the faint click of the lock and weakly sighed before sweeping the bedroom with her brown gaze, wondering if maybe he believed she would take this chance to escape from him. Corinne weighed her options at this point, as she turned the bedside lamp off; she could well escape through the window but she did not think she would be able to make it through the slums. Also, did Alex not show her that he was not going to hurt her? If anything, the only thing he had done so far was helping her, though the brunette woman still considered him to be the cause of all her misfortunes.

Again, this sensation of despondency filled her whole and she slowly got up, rubbing her palms ever so slightly as a shiver ran down her spine. What would she do when she finally had to sing like a bird for him? She had told him; she had warned him! He had got the wrong woman here! If only he had not been so hard-headed and actually listened to her— or if maybe Corinne had had the courage to tell the truth when there still was time. The young teacher did not want to imagine the outcome of this terrible night and, despite the fact that she had never been a religious woman, she had started to pray for a miracle to happen.

With wobbling legs Corinne stood up and walked to the bathroom, which was in no better condition than the rest of the place. Pacing to the sink, she supported herself on the ceramic material and shook her head in vain denial. Wary eyes were reflected on the faded mirror and, as she watched the pale face of this strange on the other side, the young woman noticed some faint speckles of blood on her cheeks. There was frightened aura to her as her fingers slowly traced the scratch near her right eye, her unsteady and silent panting fogging the cold surface of the looking glass.

Before she knew it, she was shaking like a leaf, jaw quivering as her teeth chattered uncontrollably. Was it this cold inside, or was she really scared out of her wits? She tried to ignore it as she turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face, screeching her front teeth as the chilly liquid made contact with her skin and her tender palms. However, the sting was soon forgotten when the feeling of dehydration flourished in her parched throat, and Corinne eagerly gulped while cupping some of water in her hands. It was not until she was about to sip the frigid moisture that she stopped to think about the risks of drinking from the tap— though maybe it was of no use at this point.

Feeling like a beaten puppy, the dark-haired woman returned to the bedroom and used a small towel— courtesy of Mason— to wipe her face. The cloth was still a little damp from the man's previous use, and it held faint traces of a bittersweet metallic smell— probably gunpowder, she could not tell— mixed with the distinct and unmistakable cleanliness of bar soap. Neatly folding it, she placed it on the furniture and turned around to face the desolating calmness that surrounded her. Her body grew numb, heavy, with every step she took and Corinne staggered with a hand on her head. Oh, the Heavens! It felt as if her body did not want to cooperate with her as a sudden tiredness washed over every of its muscles. She felt worn-out, drained from all her energy as the line between consciousness and dreams began to disappear in a hectic swirl of flashy beautiful colors in her mind. The idea of having some rest was recalled in Mason's deep voice, making her involuntarily nod her head as she made her way to the bed.

Sweet Mother of God! The more she thought about the mattress, and the nearer she was to it, the more inviting it seemed as it lured her to allow herself to simply plummet on it. The world did not matter to this woman, anymore. She would deal with this mess afterwards.

But as Corinne felt herself falling, she did not meet the expected softness that would embrace her with affectionate wings and cozy warmness. However, any pain that she might have felt was soon forgotten as she greeted this vacuum of memories with a bittersweet smile on her lips.

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**XIV.**

**Mason, Alex [REDACTED] Washington D.C.**

**Hudson, Jason [REDACTED]**

**[REDACTED] February, 10th, 1978**

Now that The Agency had confirmed their suspicions concerning agent Alex Mason having gone rogue, 'being unaccounted for', as well as his frail and unreliable mental state— consequence of his thought reform in the hands of the Soviets— to say that the Associate Deputy of the CIA's Special Activities Division wanted him out of the way would be a painful understatement lacking of all good measure and reasoning in every word. As far as Mason knew, ever since the first time he was attacked in his own department in Washington D.C., by a duo of trained operatives, Lieutenant Colonel Richard Kain wanted nothing more than to eliminate the threat the agent represented to their National Security and feast over his corpse.

Even if Alex would not openly admit it Hudson had been right, as usual. Kain had been waiting for him to blow it and he just gave him the perfect excuse after poking his nose in files way above his pay grade— yet again. Only difference was that, this time, the special agent had not been able to do anything cover Mason's back when the high-ups voiced their displeasure concerning his rather unorthodox behavior by protocol standards. What could Hudson possibly do when he was ordered to get Captain Mason into his right mind and all that he got from him was his contempt and sharp, angry words as they faced each other from opposite sides of a metallic table? The Marine had been sedated and strapped to the chair, just like he had been ten years ago, but that did not stop him from burning those fiery green eyes in Jason's features as the tension in the sterile and dim-lit room grew staler.

"Why did you do it, Mason? Why now?" The head-shaven agent grunted coldly, but was regarded with an accusative stare on his colleague's part. "I'm waiting."

As Mason's handler, special agent Jason Hudson had been instructed to carry out the interrogation due to his success with the subject in question ten years ago. However, he was not using the same harsh procedures and treatments he had used before. Back then, times had been difficult and he had been left with no other choice but to use whatever means necessary to obtain the critical information on the broadcast station's location. The country had been on DEFCON 2, and the despairingly lack of cooperation of Mason's had done nothing but get on his nerves, and not even his brilliant tactician mind was able to help him get a grip knowing that they were running out of time. The Nova-6 attack was imminent; the country was on the brink of World War III and if he could not break Alex Mason's brainwashing in time then it would be the end of the United States of America as they had known it. He had not been a man to easily feel scared, but Hudson had to admit that while in the ominous Room 9 of the National Security Agency, he knew what true fear was— the fear of racing against the clock, every time he looked at the timepiece and the goddamned hands kept ticking the seconds away; the fear to fail; the fear of knowing that their fate was at the mercy of a single unstable man.

Honestly, it was an experience he preferred to not undergo again.

After taking a sip of his black coffee he sighed, irritated, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. At the moment, he had been trying to reason with Alex for the past six hours but the man, unsurprisingly, had been stubborn and adamant on not uttering a single word— at least, not a valuable one. At this point, Hudson was feeling very tired and his blue eyes held traces of his evident weariness as he recalled how he had been dragged out of his house in the dead of the night to deal with this madman. He could very well be now snuggling with Jenny, his wife, in bed, in this cold wintry day. He could very well have had breakfast with her and his kids that morning instead of sitting in this chair, looking at this bastard's face.

In an outburst of frustration, he slammed his hand on the metallic furnishing, making the hot drink shudder inside the white ceramic mug. "Dammit, Mason! What the hell has gotten into you this time?"

It was no use, however. Mason was intent on keeping this glare contest and Hudson drew his lips in a tight line. His blue eyes were icier than before as they glared daggers at the obdurate Captain who was being extremely difficult today. His appearance was a mess, Jason thought. His face was covered in sweat— probably a side effect of the sedative he had been administered— cuts and dried blood. The green-eyed man had received a pretty rough handling; that Hudson could tell as much. On a close inspection, he noticed that Mason's nose had nearly been broken and the blood gushing out of his nostrils had been splattered on his white top; a sight that evoked some awfully familiar images, to say the least. Alex's mouth was open ajar and his breathing was pretty awkward, if not strenuous, as his large body rested slumped against the chair.

"I need to piss," was another useless thing Mason said after this arduous straining six hours and Hudson felt very insulted. He dared to do this to him now? The scarred man wanted to reach the other side of the table and return his audacity with a punch on the face but he got a hold of himself.

"Mason," he warned, "this is your last chance to speak. I'm going to get up from this chair, now, and once I walk out of that door at my back I promise that you'll be taken to Room 9 again. I promise that you'll be put under great suffering and I won't be able to be there to stop it. I'm fairly sure that you don't want to undergo the same again, do you?" Jason paused, expecting an answer which he never got. "We're giving you the chance to spare yourself from those detriments. I'm not your enemy. I'm just trying to help you. For once in your life, _Mason_, stop being such a pig-head and listen to what I say!" He knew that Alex would be tortured and it did not matter how much of a tough man he believed himself to be, sooner or later he would start singing like a bird. They were _not_ going to be lenient on him, as his handler had been in the past, and Jason was worried. "Last chance."

Still nothing.

Hudson shook his head in disappointment and his hand unconsciously reached for the chest pocket of his white shirt, expecting to feel the cold material of his precious Ray Bans. None of that caressed his long fingers and he had to remind himself that he had left them at home, before mentally cursing the luck that had put him in this situation. Reaching for his suit jacket, the special agent said no word as he walked to the door. His steps echoed as his dress shoes tapped the tiled floor and he wondered if he would be able to down his lunch that day with the images of his friend being tormented in his head. But he tried to placate his guilt, as his hand touched the chilly knob of the door, telling himself that he had done everything that he could. It was up to Mason to take the chance and collaborate; not him.

He had done his best, or so he believed.

A chuckle weakly resonated in the room and Hudson halted on his steps, slightly turning his head to look back at the man who now had a smirk on his lips. What was all this about?

"Trying to help me?" There was reproach in his voice, but Hudson ignored it. "After all we've been through and _you. Never. Fucking. Told me._"

"What is it that I never told you?" The blue-eyed man inquired, rather ticked off.

"Don't you give me that shit. You damn well know what I'm talking about." If words could slice through his skin, Jason knew that he would have a gash in his body by now.

"I'll repeat my question, Mason; what is it that I never let you know?"

"The truth. Simply the truth." His voice began to fade as a saddened expression replaced the glare in his sea green eyes. At this point, Hudson had returned to his chair and was contemplating his next words. It seemed like Alex was undergoing some kind of nervous breakdown— in Middle Ages known as 'melancholia'— followed by a stage of major depression, and it would not be strange if he snapped at any given moment.

"If I'd told you, would things have been any different now?" Frankly, Hudson did not have the foggiest idea of what his mate was talking about, but decided to go along. He earned a faint laugh from the Captain, who merely remained silent afterwards. "I'll ask you again. Why did you do it? Are you aware that by forcing your way to files above your level you're violating the protocols and customs of The Agency? Are you aware that there are people who still believe you may be a double agent— a traitor?"

"I am not! How many times do I have to say it, huh? I saved this country's ass ten years ago so don't you dare tell me that I'm a fucking traitor!" Jason had to restrain the urge to correct Mason and tell him that it had not been only him who had put his butt in the line, and that many had put their efforts and worked as a team to bring the broadcast station in the Rusalka down. What a dick, the shaven-headed man thought. And still he could tell that with a straight face? Unbelievable! So surely the rest was on picnic day in the coast of Cuba, enjoying the paradisiac waters, as Mason did all the work by himself. Though Hudson had to give him credit for Vozrozhdeniya "Rebirth" Island; fighting his way through an entire base was not a feat that just anyone could do.

"Then you'd better start talking, Mason." He pressed with a firm voice, desperate to know if this conversation would remotely get him somewhere.

"What's the point of this? Regardless of what I say you won't believe me, dammit!" Alex snapped, suddenly, tugging at his restraints. Apparently the effect of the sedatives was decreasing and now he had enough strength to squirm, trying to break free.

"What was the point of your infiltration in unauthorized levels? What has driven you to do it?"

For a moment, the Marine stopped and stared at his red-stained hands. His green eyes were clear in the light of the light bulb hovering above their heads, and he seemed to be lost in thought for seconds that felt like a painful eternity.

"Reznov." He finally breathed out, almost inaudibly. But Hudson had heard it clearly, and then he lost it— his coolness that had made him deserving of the nickname 'Ice Cube'. However, he could not help it. Why could Mason not understand such a simple truth? Why could he not?

"REZNOV IS DEAD, ALEX!" The man got up in a flash and furiously kicked the chair, which fell on its back. "If you can't listen to my words, then read my lips; _he. Is. Dead. DEAD!_"

"NO! YOU KNOW SHIT! YOU ALL KNOW NOTHING!" The Captain's green eyes now were burning with contempt and hatred towards such an offensive statement. "For years I've been aware of my condition; for years I've accepted the fact that he merely was a figment of my stupid imagination, but he is ALIVE! You know it! Don't deny it! He is John Trent; I know he is! I know you were in contact with him; I know Weaver was, too!" The squirm grew to a violent writhe, as he screamed like he had lost his mind. "You fucking lied to me, Hudson! You bastard! Reznov is alive!"

Mason felt himself falling backwards, his head painfully throbbing when it hit the hard floor, but he kept spitting denigrating words at the man who had betrayed him without even knowing it. His hands furiously wriggled as he tried to slip them out of the leather belts that kept him from escaping this damned room. He would have succeeded if the door slamming open and the sound of foreign voices and steps hurrying towards him had not hindered his hopes of getting out of there.

Who was he trying to kid? There was no escape from this place.

_No hope. No hope. No hope. No hope. No hope for you._

He felt pathetic. Miserable. _Used._

As the long needle buried under his skin, he could not help but cry when he felt the venomous despair being inoculated to his vulnerable body. It felt like a virus, an illness that was rapidly spread by his blood system. He could not breathe; his eyes burned and he was choking in this nightmare of tear gas but Reznov was nowhere in sight. Where was he? Had he abandoned him, too? Had he used him like the rest?

His eyelids felt heavy as this wave of painful tiredness assailed him with relentless violence. He was being pushed into this world of terrifying images and he again found himself bound on that damned operating table as the demonic German scientist did unspeakable atrocities to him. The worst part was that it felt too real. The pain was no dream. He knew this as Steiner drew close and hovered above him with a sadistic smirk.

_The pain; it's difficult to bear, isn't it?_

It had been so easy to get rid of him; to put a bullet in his head— that despicable designer of abominations. It had been a great satisfaction to hear him beg for mercy; to know that now it was the other way around and that he had turned into the scientist's nightmare.

Mason thought everything would be over but, then, he discovered that you could not kill a memory.


End file.
